


Talk to me, I need to hear you need me like I need you

by marin27



Category: Spider-Man (Video Games 2018-2020), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Crush, Feelings Realization, M/M, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, Older Man/Younger Man, Pining, Post-Game(s), Protective Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28308690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marin27/pseuds/marin27
Summary: “Miles,” Peter says again, softer this time, and Miles’ heart—it’sracing, skipping, hard against his ribcage.Ohno.“Are you there?”“Y-Yeah, I am. Here. I’m here, Pete,” Miles fumbles because this isnotwhat he wants right now.Why does this have to come at the worst time? Why does he have to deal another crisis right after one just ended?Why is being Spider-man so goddamn complicated? What the hell, man.--Peter is gone when Miles realises he needs his friend more than ever.There weren'tanySpider-man PS4 Miles/Peter fics and it's an absolute crime.Post-Spider-man: Miles Morales. (You probably need to play the game or watch gameplay because this fic references a lot of the first game and Miles Morales.)
Relationships: Miles Morales/Peter Parker
Comments: 11
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: THIS IS NOT A PLATONIC FIC. THIS IS SLASH AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR ANY COMMENTS/READERS SAYING THAT THIS IS WRONG/DISGUSTING OR ANYTHING OF THE SORT BECAUSE YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. PLEASE CLICK AWAY IF YOU ARE HERE FOR PLATONIC WHOLESOME MILES & PETER. THANK YOU.
> 
> Okay, now that the rarepair shippers are left, hello! Welcome! HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR! <3  
> I've never written a fic for a ship this rare that there aren't even any good substantial fics of these two anywhere, and I felt incredibly obligated to fix that. It is incredibly likely that this won't be the only Game!Miles/Peter fic I will write because I absolutely love the games (started my second Miles Morales run) and my love for these two and their bro-dynamic won't fade. 
> 
> Some stuff to take note of: 
> 
> I didn't tag 'Age Difference' because it's not a plot point. It's not a conflict in this story even if it is touched on very, very briefly. This fic is more about Miles trying (and failing horribly) to manage his new feelings for his close friend, and also some sprinkles of pining. 
> 
> This fic is about 19-20k words long and I've finished it, half-way done with editing so you don't have to worry about this being dropped.
> 
> Since the games are heavily referenced, it is advised that you either play the games (specifically the 2020 Miles Morales), watch the gameplay or cutscenes (MM is pretty short, about 2 hours of cutscenes only) or at the very least read the plot in the Marvel Wiki.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy the fic! <3

Being Spider-man is both everything and nothing that Miles had expected. When he dons the suit, always by Peter’s side, his guidance lighting the way, Miles feels like he can take the world, ready for anything. He wonders if it’s because he’s seventeen, still very much a teenager yet fresh into manhood, uncertain yet unerringly overconfident.

Or maybe it’s because of Peter, who’s a steady presence, supportive and kind—almost too kind for his own good—consistent in making Miles feel like there’s nothing that can get him down.

Either way, it didn’t take too long for Miles to realize—after Peter has gone to Symkaria and left New York in Miles’ hands—that he doesn’t have the _faintest_ clue in what he’s doing.

Everything is suddenly too much, too fast, and at every turn, Miles only gets more and more overwhelmed, suffocated and pressured under all the unseen weight suddenly dumped on him.

He should have known that he wasn’t ready when Peter said he was leaving New York. He should have asked the man to stay a little longer, especially after Miles had screwed up everything with Rhino and— _oh wow,_ not to mention his new powers too.

But he didn’t say a thing, just let the man leave and didn’t ask for anything else.

When Phin waltzed right back into his life, everything turned on its head because, for one, all sorts of emotions he forgot he had resurfaced and Phin being Phin didn’t help either. She is more aloof, quiet, reserved. Though she still dunks of him like she’s always loved to do, her words don’t hold the same bite, her eyes tell him the lack of heart in her jokes.

And Miles really was going to talk to her, tell her everything that’s been happening, and possibly work up to telling her his spider problem. Though, Peter’s voice echoes in his head every time the thought crosses his head, telling him not to tell a single soul.

Then, Miles came in between Roxxon and the Underground and things—things got a little complicated after that.

Miles understands. He really does. At first, he was angry, betrayed because why didn’t Phin trust him with a secret like this? But then he learns what happened, why Phin was angry—so, _so_ angry. Rick was another person Miles can’t measure up to, and he _understands._

Miles should have known that lying and scheming was the last thing Phin needed, but at the time he thought it was the only way to get to her. It seemed easy; the plan laid out perfectly by his uncle.

It shouldn’t have surprised Miles that it blew up in his face.

He could see that piercing betrayal, the same sharp pain he felt when he found out who exactly was the Tinkerer, flash across her face, before fury swamps it all out. And Miles loses her.

The next few days are a blur of punches that don’t hit hard enough, bruises that stay and promises he can’t keep. He idly wonders if this is what being Spider-man really means. The thought only makes him respect Peter more than he already does.

Sometimes, when the going gets tough, Miles has this childish thought. Something he lets himself indulge in when he’s pushed to his limit. It’s that Peter would swing in, shining spandex suit and optimistic bravery to save Miles from his fights, to protect him the same way he’s done countless times before. It’s a fantasy, Miles knows.

Logically, he knows that Peter is a phone call and a cross-Atlantic flight away and knows that the man would drop everything if Miles only asked, but he can’t do that to Peter. His mentor had entrusted him with looking after the city, even though it was on the assumption that Miles wouldn’t uncover a corporate conspiracy and would have to deal with a new criminal gang led by his middle-school best friend.

So, yeah, he can’t call Peter, can’t expect the man to save him and get him out of his messes.

No matter how much he wants to.

The hours spent taking down the Underground and facing Phin makes Miles feel things he can’t unpack because everything was happening so fast. One day, he was having Christmas dinner with Phin in his apartment and before he knew it, he was kidnapped by Rhino.

When he faced Phin in Roxxon, he knew that everything was ending that night.

And he was right. Everything was over faster than he thought. And he lost her faster than he had the chance to be grateful that Phin was back in his life.

The grief doesn’t come in immediately. No. It comes in waves when the doors are closed, when he’s covered in bandages and kept under watchful protection by his mom and Ganke. They make sure he doesn’t leave his bed until every bruise was gone.

He doesn’t know what could have happened if he didn’t have his family by his side.

He gets calls from Peter, but mom gets Ganke to confiscate his phone away because she knows Miles better than he knows himself. He knows that if he called Peter right now, he would ask the man to come back, beg him to assure him and to bestow wisdom on things he’s gone through before.

When he’s burned through the painkillers and he can finally walk without the slightest ache in every muscle group, it gets easier. He goes out as Spider-man again, excited to no longer be couped up in his room alone with his thoughts. Though, his short break was something he didn’t know he needed. He needed time to process, to feel grounded and normal again. There’s only so many games he can play with Ganke before even he gets restless.

Tired from a day of Spider-manning, he’s perched atop the Avengers tower, keeping an ear out for Ganke’s pings and the app’s notifications. When he’s sure things are cool, does he let himself listen to the voicemails Peter left.

There’s six voicemails in total.

“Miles? Hey, it’s Peter. Uh, I saw what happened with Rhino on the news, and that new guy, the Tinkerer. Listen, if you need me, I’m on the first plane home, alright?”

The next one is only two hours after.

“Miles! I heard from Ganke that you were kidnapped by Rhino. No wonder you weren’t on the news. Anyway, I need you to call me back, okay? I’m really worried, even though Ganke did tell me you got yourself out already which—by the way, congrats on your surviving your first kidnapping attempt but also I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there. I—uh, I don’t know what’s going on and to be honest, that kind of sucks. Please, please call me, okay?”

The third one is on the day that Miles fought Phin at Roxxon.

“It’s Peter. I’m watching the news right now, live from New York. They say you’re fighting the Tinkerer but I can’t—I can’t see you, Miles. It’s scaring me. Is this how MJ felt every time? God, now I get why she ended things. Makes sense. I know you won’t hear this until the whole fight is over, so I hope everything turns out oka—holy sh—oh my god, _Miles!”_

The voicemail ends there, as if Peter accidentally pressed the end call button because the next voicemail immediately starts with, “Miles—oh god, I really, _really_ hope you’re okay because if my Symkarian is correct, which I really hope it isn’t, it’s saying that there’s a blast from Roxxon in Harlem, and that you’re right in the middle of it—oh god, you’re falling from the building and—is that the Tinkerer? Okay… now they’re saying the core is being absorbed by—oh… Miles, no, no, _no—”_

The message ends there. There’s another one from that same date, the night that Phin died.

There’s only soft breathing on the other end, and in the background there’s people speaking in Symkarian, presumably the news Peter’s watching. Peter’s voice is raspy, a little harried. “Uh… hey. This is Pete. Again. Listen—”

There’s a pause, then a long breath being taken in. His voice is shaky, “I, uh, I saw what you did. And what the Tinkerer did. I also saw you—god—”

Miles winces. He knows exactly what Peter is talking about. That fall made his joints ache for days.

Peter clears his throat, “They’re saying you’re fine. That you’re back to swinging around all fine and dandy but I, uh, I—I need to hear you, Miles. I just need to hear from you for a moment, okay, Miles? I doubt the suit’s systems are working so well after that fight so you probably won’t get this call anytime soon but please, as soon as you get a connection, please call me back, bud. I’m worried.”

Miles scrolls down. There are about seven missed calls, one for every day that Miles spent in his bed healing. There’s only one voicemail, though, sent only this morning. The last voicemail too. Miles takes a breath to clear his head, calm his thumping heart, before opening it up.

“Hey, Miles. It’s Peter. I just, uh, wanted to catch you up to speed on some stuff and check in.” It sounds forced, some of that cheeriness that Peter is well-known for isn’t something that can be faked easily, and it’s clear in his voice. Something in Miles tells him this voicemail is more for Peter’s benefit than his own.

Peter talks about his still-horrible Symkarian, about MJ and Sable and what he’s missing from New York, talks about everything but Miles himself and the elephant in the room.

“Anyways, I know Symkarian is hard, but phew. Years of taking Spanish in high school could not have prepared me for this,” Peter cracks a laugh, but it’s awkward, stilted. Miles grimaces, guilt pricking in his chest. He didn’t know that Peter worried this much over him, but then again, he should’ve known; it’s Peter, after all. The best man he’s ever known, next to his own father.

“Uh, so, I haven’t heard from you in a while.” There’s a sound of Peter fumbling with something, and he quickly says, “Ah, if you’re worried about whether I’m burning a hole through the ceiling, it’s fine. Ganke filled me in, told me your mom didn’t want you worrying about other things while you got better. Completely understandable, _to_ -tally fine and cool.”

“I would have been more worried if you immediately went back to Spider-manning, so, small mercies, yeah?”

“I’m just glad to hear that you’re okay. Call me as soon as you can, Miles. I mean it. Bye.”

Miles doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t think about the fact he has no idea what to say if Peter does pick up, he presses on Peter’s contact. It goes straight to ringing and Miles pretty much loses all his nerve right then and there.

It rings three times before it clicks. There’s silence that’s then broken by a rustle of noise and then Peter’s voice, groggy, deep, right in Miles’ ears. “Pete Park’ speakin’. Who’s this?”

Miles belatedly realizes that it should be about three am right now in Symkaria. Six-hour difference from New York.

He clears his throat, starting softly so as to not alarm the man, a little bashful. “Uh, hey, Pete?”

“Miles?” Peter asks first, voice faint and sleepy, then, more alert, “ _Miles?_ Is that you? Wait, hold on—” There’s more rustling, a loud thump, a muffled sound of pain, a door opening and closing.

“Miles? Buddy?” Peter’s voice is much more awake now. _So much for trying to not alarm him._

Miles clears his throat again, “Hey, Pete. Yeah, it’s Miles.”

There’s a shaky exhale on the other side, and Miles’ chest constricts.

“Oh, hey, hey, hi, hey there, Miles.” The relief is palpable.

Miles laughs, soft, “Hey, bro.”

“It’s really great to hear from you.” There’s a smile in Peter’s voice, and it’s one of those wide, beaming ones that make you look twice and wonder what was so amazing to make Peter smile like that. It’s a little dizzying to realize that it’s himself. “I’m ecstatic, you hear me, Miles? This is great.”

“I woke you up, didn’t I?” Miles says, voice low. Even though he does feel bad he woke Peter up, some part of him is relieved to hear from Peter too. “You should be getting back to bed, Pete, you must have had a long day—”

“Hey, hey, no, no, no, none of that. I wanna talk—let’s talk, okay? I want to hear from you. You’re not bothering me at all.” Peter takes in a breath, sounding more pleased than Miles would have expected him to. “Besides, it wasn’t a good sleep anyway.”

Miles doesn’t say anything, which is in itself strange because neither he nor Peter are the types to keep quiet, both of their heads running a mile a minute and mouths being infamously loose when uncomfortable. And this conversation is _very_ uncomfortable. This _whole_ thing is strange, and Miles can’t find the first thing in his head to say.

“Please don’t hang up,” Peter murmurs.

“I won’t,” Miles says quickly, disquieted by how downtrodden Peter sounds. It must be because Peter just woke up. It’s really weird to hear it from Peter, the person who always exudes cheerfulness, infectiously optimistic.

It’s a long stretch of silence that Miles feels the need to break, feeling restless from how Peter is reacting to everything. Miles swallows dryly and starts off quiet, “You good, man?”

“Yeah,” Peter huffs, humor interlaced with something Miles can’t identify, “I’m doing good. Better now.”

Miles’ lips twitch. “That’s good to hear. So, uh, how’s MJ and Sable treating you?”

“They’re…” Even from over the line, Miles can hear the click of his throat as Peter swallows, sounding as if he didn’t expect Miles to ask, “They’ve let me go for a while, to let me get my head on straight. They heard what happened.”

“Oh,” Miles says dimly, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“Uh, it kind of is, Pete.”

“No, it’s just… it’s fine. I don’t blame you. And neither do they.”

Miles picks at the wool of his scarf. It’s supposed to be soft, gentle in his hands, but the feel of it is slightly muted under his gloves. “Do you know everything? Did Ganke tell you everything that happened?”

“Uh—I know the Tinkerer almost got you killed after the explosion, they brought you, like, hundreds of feet into the air and dropped you like a rock. Ganke figured you’d fill me in when I came back.”

Miles screws his eyes shut, something building in his throat.

“No,” he mutters, and he opens his eyes to the night sky, having seen the night flash before his eyes once again, a painful memory he wonders if he’ll ever be able to shake off. He’s thought about telling Pete, thought about exposing a still-raw wound in his chest to his mentor, but every time it came up, he pushed it out of his head, opting to talk to the man once he gets back from Europe.

But Pete is here, he’s _here_ , and Miles can’t imagine having to keep everything wrapped up so tightly in his chest, hidden away from the one person who truly understands.

“I knew the Tinkerer. She was my best friend. From middle school.”

There’s a pause, then a quiet, sullen, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Miles’ says, voice trembling. “She was like my sister, spent every waking moment in school attached at the hip. We did science projects that gave my dad heart attacks, made memories and shared secrets we’d take to the grave.”

He chuckles, nostalgic and empty, “She was like Ganke.”

“She must have been a good friend to you.”

“She was the greatest.”

Peter is quiet, and Miles is eternally grateful for it because he doesn’t know if he would’ve continued if Peter talked. He’d probably do something awful like cry.

“Her brother. He died because of Roxxon.” Feeling emboldened, despite the painful pangs in his chest, he continues. “She wanted revenge, so she joined forces with the Underground, became their leader.

“Made them crazy weapons and tech, and in exchange, got their help in their numbers.” Miles frowns, knowing he’s stalling from telling the more difficult parts of the story.

“She didn’t know I was Spider-man until she was about to kill me.” Miles can see the fresh betrayal over her face, shock and hurt that were quickly replaced by indignant determination. “I wish I told her sooner, before I used to her to get to the Underground. She wouldn’t have gone down this path if—if I wasn’t selfish.”

There’s a soft sound over the line and Miles rushes in.

“Pete, please, don’t talk. If you talk, I don’t think I can make it through the whole thing,” Miles says quickly, hearing the catch in Peter’s breath. “I know what you’re going to say, and I’m not tryna hear it. Not now.”

Peter stays quiet, and Miles’ chest unwinds, just a tiny bit.

“Phin was… she didn’t stop. She wouldn’t, and I couldn’t stop her either, no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t—she just _didn’t stop._ ”

There was a moment in the middle of chaos (—back when Miles was still trying to turn Phin’s mind around, even though a part of him already knew it was impossible—) when he realized he was _afraid_ of Phin. Something about her driven, unrelenting temperament. How she pushed and pushed until things got in her way. It was _so_ like Phin that it scared Miles. Because no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that Phin changed, there was no way to excuse the fact that Miles isn’t surprised by the limits she went to by the end of it. A part of him doesn’t blame her for turning into the harsh, violent Tinkerer.

“When we were at Roxxon, after I got kidnapped, she almost killed Rhino and I—” His head comes down to rest in his hand, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. His phone creaks, his fingers tightening around it. He takes in a shaky breath, the words on his tongue not feeling urgent enough to jump out and make themselves known.

He straightens up again, this time with his mask rolled over his nose, needing the spandex out of the way to _breathe._

“That night at Roxxon, when everything ended, the Nuform reactor was supercharged, something that Phin didn’t know about. Her plan was to blow up Roxxon plaza, but she didn’t know. She would have blown Harlem to nothing if—if I didn’t—”

Miles’ hands spark for a brief moment, and he grimaces. “I’m sure Ganke told you I’m basically a human battery.”

“Yeah, he mentioned it once or twice,” Peter’s voice is low, almost indecipherable.

“I absorbed the Nuform reactor,” Miles says abruptly, and Peter goes silent once again. “Phin had already activated it with the destabilized Nuform she stole, and it was already on the way to destroying Harlem with everyone in it.”

Miles’ hands are shaking now, twitching as yellow strands of bioelectricity dances between his fingers and across his palms, lighting up his face, his voice quivering as the words spill out faster, “We fought, blew off half of Roxxon plaza in the process and she saw what the reactor was doing, something she didn’t plan for. And then she fell, and I jumped and—”

_I’m sorry._

_It’s okay._

“She didn’t mean it, Pete. She didn’t mean any of it, she said she was sorry—” Miles hiccups and only then does he realize his mask feels a little damp on his cheeks, New York’s skyline looking a little blurry.

“The reactor was getting worse with every second,” he continues regardless, taking his mask off completely, the sting of the cold air grounding him. “I had to stop it so I—I absorbed the Nuform reactor.”

This is the worst part, the part that makes every inch of Miles’ chest ache unrelentingly. “Phin knew I couldn’t keep of the energy in, so she took me up Roxxon, up into the air and she told me—”

A sob breaks free from his throat, “She told me to let go.”

Only then does he let himself crumble, the phone clattering to his side, one hand gripping at his chest, and he _cries._

Everything hurts, even more than the worst injuries he got from that night. He misses her, so much, but he hates how many people she’s hurt, how many she killed because they got in her way.

He hasn’t let himself cry this much. He’s cried in front of Ganke, in front of mom right after everything, but not like this. He didn’t cry like every fiber of his being ached and the chasm of his chest felt like it was cracking from how much it wants to cave in.

The blinking of his phone reminds him he has an audience, and he taps the speaker phone button, not sure if he can handle hearing Peter’s voice right in his ears.

“I’m sorry, man,” Miles croaks, embarrassment and shame curling right in.

“Don’t be,” Peter says, soft and kind and stubbornly patient. He wonders if this is what Phin felt when dealing with him.

Peter breathes a sigh, worried and heavy, “I know this is going to sound really selfish of me right now, but I _really_ wished you had called me to come back.”

_I wish I did too._

“Everything turned out okay,” Miles manages feebly. And he’s right. Everyone was safe by the end of it, with Harlem intact, and Krieger behind bars—everything turned out the way it was supposed to. Yet, it still _hurts._

“Still,” Peter mumbles, and it’s softer than anything Miles has ever heard from the man, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to go through it alone.”

“I know, man.” Miles looks down at his phone, seeing the grinning, bright-eyed contact photo of Peter staring back at him. He remembers the day he took that photo.

He snapped the photo when Peter wasn’t looking, the man having noticed they had candy cotton machines at the fair. He’d asked if Peter was free that day, to check out the annual Brooklyn Visions fundraising carnival and to be his plus-one since Ganke was manning one of the stations. He agreed without hesitation, and it is probably one of his favorite memories with Peter Parker himself—not as Spider-man, he’s got plenty more of those.

Peter Parker, Spider-man—they’re the same person. And it’s clear in everything he does. Miles knows he means what he says; he would have dropped everything to help Miles.

Something about that makes Miles’ chest ache.

“I’m glad that everything turned out okay, Miles,” Peter says. There’s something about the way that Peter says his name, affectionate and warm, his name slipping out with every other sentence like a familiar habit. It’s nice.

“I’m glad you talked to me.” Miles closes his eyes. This time, the horrid images don’t appear. Instead, it’s Peter’s kind hazel eyes, his clean, bright, beaming smile, the incredibly expressive looks and the always slightly furrowed brow—he’s always thinking, always in his head, despite the constant word-vomits.

“I’m glad too, Pete. It’s… nice to talk, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah. It’s great to hear from you too,” Peter huffs a laugh. His voice is warm, always so warm—remarkably inviting. It’s ridiculous how easily he put Miles at ease. And it works on pretty much everyone he talks to too. (As Peter Parker. He’s lost count how many times Spider-man has gotten a gun aimed at him for not keeping his mouth shut.)

He still remembers the last time he saw Peter. After the skirmish with Rhino. He didn’t get to see him off at JFK since he was busy with helping out at mom’s rally, and he didn’t even know that Peter was leaving the next day. But he remembers that moment, nonetheless, the moment of warmth and trust, faith in Miles as he placed the responsibility into his hands, letting Miles shoulder some of the weight he must have had on for eight years and counting.

He remembers how fast he blamed himself, how he was the one who caused Rhino to escape and wreak havoc. But he also remembers how much faster Peter was to reassure him, place a warm hand on his own trembling ones and say, _And you delivered big time, you saved my bacon, Miles._

It was so easy to let the worst of the blame slide off his back. If Peter could see the good even with how everything turned out that night, then Miles should too.

He also remembers that gentle curl of familiarity, when Peter calls him by his name, even after he almost got Peter killed. That type of trust that’s given so freely but treasured by people who truly want it. It’s…

It’s—

“Miles?”

Oh.

Oh no.

Peter grinning, wide and unabashed. His voice, loud and proud, supportive of everything that Miles does right, gentle when he corrects Miles. His warm nature, addicting and so inviting. Capable hands, guiding and protecting. His mind, sharp and quick-witted, keeping Miles on his toes. His strength, used for good—and Pete is so _good._

He’s Spider-man. He’s New York’s hero. He’s Miles’ mentor and his close friend. He’s one of the smartest people Miles knows, and one of the best too. He’s everything that Miles has ever wanted.

“Miles,” Peter says again, softer this time, and Miles’ heart—it’s _racing,_ skipping, hard against his ribcage.

Oh _no._

“Are you there?”

“Y-Yeah, I am. Here. I’m here, Pete,” Miles fumbles because this is _not_ what he wants right now.

Why does this have to come at the worst time? Why does he have to deal another crisis right after one just ended? _Why is being Spider-man so goddamn complicated? What the hell, man._

But then again, a part of him whispers, this isn’t about being Spider-man. This is about being Miles, himself, the kid from Brooklyn who’s fresh into superhero-hood, and about Peter—who great, kind, strong and a joy to be around. Being Spider-man has nothing and everything to do about this.

“Just kind of lost in my thoughts, s’all,” Miles says, voice fading.

This should not be on the agenda. The timing’s all wrong. Miles is _just_ figuring out how to be Spider-man alone and that means that Peter will likely spend less time with him. Peter is all the way in Eastern Europe, _and_ he’s just getting back together with MJ. They’re thousands of miles apart and Miles is crying and Peter is too nice and—and Miles can’t deal with this.

“Hey, Pete. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Oh, uh, sure—of course,” Peter fumbles, tone a little tense, “yeah, you must be tired—”

“I can say the same thing about you,” Miles says, voice a little strangled, but he pushes forward, he doesn’t want to tip the man off. Peter can be incredibly perceptive when he wants to be.

“Go back to bed, bro, I’ll call you when I can, yeah? Everything’s good on my end so don’t worry,” Miles says a little too quickly, pressing the speaker phone button again and bringing the phone back to his ear, sliding his mask on. He scrambles to his feet, leaning just over the edge of the building, watching how the city lights reflect on the skyscraper.

“Hey, Miles—”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, don’t worry about me,” Miles is dimly aware that he’s repeated himself, but he can hardly think when his mind is now a whirlwind of _Peter, Peter, Peter—_

“You’ll keep me updated, right?” Peter asks, voice a little harried as if he’s afraid that Miles would hang up any moment.

_I won’t._

“I will.”

Petr breathes a sigh, a smile in his voice, “Okay, thanks. Goodnight, Miles.”

“Night, Pete. Sleep well.”

He cuts the call, slips the phone into his pocket, and leaps off the building.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles really needs a moment to think, damn it, Pete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Not much to say here except enjoy!

He texts Peter. He can’t help it. The guilt kept eating at him whenever he thought of Peter’s palpable relief, grateful that Miles is in contact with him again. But he can’t force himself to do more than that, can’t imagine hearing Peter’s voice right in his ears, always reminded of how he feels for Peter with every bumbling word that falls from the older man’s lips.

 _Damnit._ Miles shakes his head, pulling his mask down, getting ready to leap back out for another day of Spider-manning. He’s doing it again. It happens so much more often now. It’s terrible how often his thoughts stray back to his mentor—his _mentor._

And not in any way he should be thinking of him. It’s awful, Miles knows. As if things weren’t already complicated without having a sudden crush on his mentor-slash-friend. But everything else helps. Catching up on homework, working with Ganke on Spider-man stuff and helping mom and at F.E.A.ST. helps. Any sort of distraction helps. But whenever he’s back in the city, swinging between alleyways and leaping off of buildings, his thoughts find their way right back to him. It makes sense, after all. Being Spider-man doesn’t help him take his mind off of the _other_ Spider-man.

He does clean-up more often now. After Roxxon was destroyed, Miles tried to help Harlem in any way he can, trying to restore the neighborhood back to its normal state. He helps with carrying equipment, with assisting the clean-up crew—specialized for these types of situations—delivering their lunches and coffee and focusing on his Spider-man app. He keeps crime away from the destruction site, knowing people would pick at the scraps Roxxon left like vultures.

He keeps his days filled, scheduled and overly busy to keep his mind from straying and to also stop himself from calling Peter. He still texts him, though. Keeps him updated at the bare minimum on what happens on a day-to-day basis. Like a daily Spider-man report.

And it’s clear to Miles that it’s not what Peter wants.

Every time Miles texts at the end of the night, Peter always tries to steer the conversation away from Spider-man stuff, tries to ask about Miles’ day, if he ate or did his homework. Miles eventually stopped replying to those texts, saying he was sleeping or busy to respond. Because Miles gained the habit of filling him in at night after a long day, Peter has gotten wind of his routine, and started to even stay up late enough so he catches Miles mid-text, trying to start a conversation.

Miles now only texts him at random times, never consistent. Peter still doesn’t stop trying.

This goes on for two weeks, the two weeks that Peter has left in Symkaria. Because everything that happened with Phin was only a span of three or four days. Which is crazy, now that he thinks back on it. Everything happened so fast, but the whole experience felt longer than it actually was, every second and moment so vivid to Miles.

* * *

The day before that Peter is due to return, Miles texts him that he wants to talk. Only a minute after, Peter responds.

_Come pick me up from JFK._

That makes Miles stop in his tracks.

_Bring Ganke if you’d like_

He lets out a shaky breath. Ganke can be a buffer between them. And a good one too, since he was the first person that Miles made aware of with what he felt for Peter. Now _that_ was a conversation Miles doesn’t want to have again.

“You’re in love with Peter? _That Peter?_ The OG Spider-man?”

At least he knows everything. He might even come in handy if Miles acts too weird for Peter to ignore.

When they’re dropped off by Ganke’s mom at JFK at eight am in the morning, both of them bemoaning the fact that Peter had to pick a flight with absurd timing, Miles feels like he’s on edge—like, on the edgiest edge that has ever edged.

Ganke notices because, of course, he does.

“Miles, it’s going to be fine. Peter won’t be mad. Knowing him, he’d probably be the one to apologize.”

That startles a laugh out of Miles, more hysterical than amused but it’s something.

“Yeah. But it was obvious, I was pretty much ghosting the guy.”

“Ghosting Spider-man, I can’t believe it.”

“Hey, I’m Spider-man too.”

“True. But that’s not the point. Peter won’t blame you _and_ he doesn’t know, okay? So, don’t worry.”

It didn’t do much to assuage his fears, still full of nerves even as he stands on his tiptoes to look over the crowd, trying to catch the mop of brown hair as people come flooding out.

For a moment, Miles thinks it’s another flight that’s come in, but then he sees it. The familiar old grey ESU sweatshirt, ill-fitting jeans and sneakers that have seen better days three years ago. His eyes flicker up and—dang, Ganke is going to call him dramatic but he can’t help it—he can feel the world pause, just for a moment.

Peter isn’t looking at him yet, eyes roaming over the crowd, looking for someone, and then he locks eyes with Miles, perks up and—his smile is absolutely _blinding_ , and Miles’ breath is stolen right out of him.

_Oh no._

Peter starts doing that awkward half-jog towards them, face open and delighted.

“Miles!” He waves, and Miles can only wave back, hearing his pulse in his ears.

_I can’t tell him._

Miles can feel his cheeks rising, his own wide grin encompassing his whole face. Ganke is looking at him, he notices in the corner of his eye. Right before they get into his superhuman hearing range, Ganke leans into Miles’ space and mutters, “You’ve got it so _bad,_ dude.”

Miles curses, elbowing Ganke’s side, shooting him a sharp glance. Ganke can only muffle a snicker.

“Hey—Hey, man,” Miles says, almost a little breathless. Holy _shit._ That contact picture really does not do the man any justice.

He’s always known that Peter was attractive, in that generic white boy way—not at all catching Miles’ attention in any way other than objective appreciation. Well, at least until two weeks ago.

He’s unsure where does all these thoughts come from, wondering what in the hell changed in the span of the couple of weeks Peter was away in Symkaria. It’s like Peter wasn’t even considered handsome or cute in Miles’ head, until—well, now—and suddenly everything is turned a full one-eighty. He really has no goddamn clue.

Only a few steps away, does Peter’s smile flicker, his hurried steps faltering as if he’s suddenly remembered everything that’s been happening since they had that phone call. By the time he’s only an arm’s length away from Miles does he look fully uncertain, almost afraid.

“Hey, Miles. Ganke, it’s great to see familiar faces again,” Peter says, his genuine smile replaced by a polite one, strained at the edges.

“It’s great to see you back,” Ganke says, tone cheerful and purposefully oblivious, moving in to give Peter a hug and a pat on the back, welcoming him back to New York.

Miles is stuck on the spot, because Peter looks _miserable_ and he knows it’s his own fault, making Peter feel cautious, as if he’s walking on eggshells around his protégé. Peter isn’t meeting his eyes, looking at Miles’ shoulder instead, amiable and stiff, his one free hand clenching at his side as if he’s holding himself back.

And Miles cracks.

“Peter.” The man jolts, eyes shooting up to meet Miles’, startled. Miles feels something soften in him; the guilt too strong to keep everything locked away. Damn, he’s a hormonal mess.

Miles brings forth the brightest smile he can muster, forcing the tension in him to melt away. It’s not hard, because _Peter is back,_ he’s here and Miles can finally see him and talk to him again and it’s _great_.

(He can focus on the negatives later.)

“Miles?” Peter asks, tone hopeful, eyes widening.

“Hey, Pete. I missed you, bro,” and faster than the nerve can leave him, he surges in for a hug—a full one, not the one that Ganke gave him.

Peter’s hands don’t hesitate in wrapping around him.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

Peter pauses then, and suddenly he’s laughing, sounding relieved and happy, huffs of his breath hot against his neck. As if he was the one who had any reason to feel guilty at all. “Me too. It’s so great to see you again.”

Peter doesn’t pull away, and he doesn’t seem to want to, so Miles has to let go first—which is harder than he could ever have fathomed.

They stare at each other for a moment, something between them coming undone, unconsciously releasing a hold on the both of them. Peter is smiling, gleaming, sunny. Miles doesn’t know what expression is on his face, but he can’t stop grinning either.

Ganke is quick to chime in right before it gets too awkward, “Breakfast?”

The tension shatters like glass, and Miles is thankful for it. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if left to his own devices.

He feels better, so much better. And things become less serious after that. They tuck into the cheapest outside the airport—because everything at JFK was ridiculously overpriced and even with a full-grown adult within their midst, they didn’t want to spend eight dollars for a coffee—and get stacks of waffles, pancakes and greasy strips of bacon.

Miles feels lighter as the minutes tick by, as Peter is retelling what’s happened in Symkaria, and with Miles and Ganke filling him in on the less-heavy Spider-man stuff, Miles feels like he can live without the worst of his thoughts plaguing him. When he meets Peter’s eyes over the booth’s table, a kind smile tugging at his lips, Miles knows he’s forgiven.

* * *

Things go back to normal. For a short while.

Peter gets right back to being Spider-man, but it takes a while for both of them to team-up again, mostly because Miles is busy when Peter isn’t, and vice versa. So, they don’t see each other for the first half week Peter is back in New York. Which is fine by Miles. He needs some space, get his thoughts back in order before facing the man again.

(Which makes a small part of him panic because if this is what happens every single time comes face to face with his mentor, then he’s not sure if he can survive being around the man on a day-to-day basis.)

But when they do come together, Miles is feeling pretty good. Things are looking up and when he sees Peter leaning against the metal grate of the water tank, his heart doesn’t _yeet_ out of his chest like a cliché in a cheesy indie teenage movie, even if it does skip a beat.

_Man, that suit leaves nothing to the imagination._

He doesn’t need to force the casual calm as he slowly webs himself down, cup of hot chocolate held upside down.

“Man, still can’t get over that suit. _So_ cool.”

Miles grins, feeling a little more himself, glad he gets to impress Peter even just a little bit.

“Gotta be me,” he says cheerfully, absentmindedly.

“Yeah, you do,” Peter murmurs, low and soft, affectionate—a tone he’s heard before—and Miles can _feel_ the man staring at him through those white lenses; and suddenly every little thing he felt from that phone call weeks ago come flooding back. Miles sips greedily on his drink, glad for the burn on the roof of his mouth. He throws the empty cup away and flips right next to Peter, perching just a little further away from the man.

He quickly slides the rest of his mask down, not wanting Peter to see the furious blush that’s worked its way to his neck.

“Pete,” he starts, looking away, trying to force that phone call away from his head. He finds it easier to ask the question when he doesn’t see the Spider-man lenses narrow in his direction. “Does this job get any easier?”

“Some of it, yeah,” Peter says, tone becoming equally serious, “Some things never get easier, though.”

He’s able to look at him now, glad for the two masks hiding their expressions. “Roxxon did this uptown because they saw us as disposable.”

Peter looks back and Miles quickly turns to his front. Even then, Peter’s gaze burns the side of his face. “Me. Rick. Phin.”

Peter’s silence tells Miles he understands the implication.

“All of Harlem.”

They watch the streets, vibrant with life and personality, and Miles, for a brief moment, wishes he was a normal civilian walking along the streets.

“I think part of our job’s making sure they can’t get away with it.”

Even with the mask on, Peter is as expressive as ever. The slight dip to his chin, the tiniest narrowing of his eyes—determined, resolute, but voice still gentle, “We’ll add it to the Spider-man oath.”

They don’t catch a moment of reprieve because not two seconds after that, their sensitive ears catch the familiar wail of police sirens.

“Go time?” Peter lifts his fist, and Miles can’t help bumping it back, a small, sardonic grin pulling at his lips, “Go time.”

* * *

So, yeah. Things were normal for a while. But it’s still much shorter than Miles would have liked.

When he’s facing the man more than twice a week, it gets easier to hide his more obvious reactions, he’s able to contain the worst of it, able to hold off on spilling the words on his tongue. But it’s still _Peter._

So, he’s thankful for any time that Peter says he’s taking a day off, which is more often now. If Miles didn’t know any better, he’d say that Peter was avoiding him, but Peter still calls often. He talks about his home renovations, about thinking of getting a new job, about a crazy Buzzfeed article he read—he calls Miles more often than Miles even texts.

(—But the more Miles tries to pay attention, the more it falls apart. Whenever Miles would offer to help, to see him in person, Peter would gently lay him down, as if he really _was_ avoiding Miles. Miles tries to brush it off, that pattern, but it sticks out every now and then—)

When the streets go back to their usual-scheduled violent crimes, Miles—

Look, it’s not on purpose. Well, maybe a little bit of it, yeah, it is, but most of it isn’t.

He’s just getting lazy, that’s all.

He can chalk up the higher count of injuries up to being lazy, to being careless. He tells himself that the bruises staying a day or two longer than usual is fine, something he shouldn’t be worried about—that the wounds and gashes do cut a little deeper but hurt less, Miles having become a little more numb.

(A normal person would say he’s become a masochist to distract himself from the bigger issue, but Miles digresses.)

His thoughts stray and his focus wavers, and suddenly, Miles’ body has become a whole bruise, facing the brunt of the abrupt influx of crime, the vacuum of power that the Underground left behind giving Miles more nights of lying in bed in pain.

He convinces himself it’s all fine, until he suddenly loses grip of his web, and he clips himself on the corner of a building.

His whole side hurts, pulsating in agony, but Miles tells himself he’s been through worse and takes out his phone.

He goes to call list, reaching for Peter automatically but then—

_“—I figured out who was responsible. I’m going to stop them, I promise.”_

_“Okay, I trust you.”_

He stops.

_I trust you._

_I trust you._

_I trust you._

It’s a repeating phrase in his head, in Peter’s voice, said all the way back when Miles just found exactly who was the Tinkerer.

His thumb is hovering over Peter’s name on his screen, frozen as a rock.

The throbbing pain in his side and settled into a dull ache, the pain pushed to the back of his head as more conflicting thoughts take the forefront.

He can’t call Peter. He _can’t._

Because Miles is Spider-man. Because Miles has become the superhero Peter expected him to be, has grown into his potential like Miles had wanted.

He shouldn’t be calling for help like a needy kid.

He has to deal with this on his own.

He turns his phone off, stumbles to his feet and swings back home, gritting his teeth through the pain.

* * *

It becomes a regular occurrence.

Miles would get hurt in the field, whether from a brutal fistfight or a careless accident.

The second time it happens, Miles had already started the call, but he cuts the line before the second ring, choking on dust, knees and elbows bleeding from being dragged under a still moving truck. He slips the phone back into his seamless pocket and limps back to his street.

The third time, he’s shivering in the snow, soaked to the bone from being tackled into the water, feeling bruises bloom on his neck from how hard the body-guard brute was choking him. He doesn’t bother taking out his phone—knowing that Peter is installing a new, termite-free bathroom door at the moment.

At first, he tells himself that he can deal with this on his own, that Peter is likely expecting him to handle harder tasks.

But it suddenly becomes a good tactic to avoiding Peter even more. It becomes a way to alleviate the guilt over not being able to get Peter Parker out of his head.

* * *

It’s been a couple of weeks since Peter got back, and things don’t get much easier.

He’s coping, he’s okay. _Really._

But, at night, more often than not, when Miles slips through his window, covered in bruises and cuts, he’s plagued by thoughts he’s spent the whole day distracting himself from.

Miles is okay. Better than he was doing after that phone call.

And Peter is… fine too, he assumes. They see each other now and then, swinging past each other on the street. Peter still calls, gives him wisdom and guidance in the most Peter way possible—which is through painfully earnest dad jokes and bad impressions. They haven’t hung out as only Miles and Peter since JFK, though.

Miles’ feelings for the man is a can of worms he’s not ready to open. He’s tried to, a couple of times, but he gets too overwhelmed by the implications and the fallout that will inevitably happen if he confronts it.

The thing is, Miles had seriously considered telling Peter, but that was before he finally saw the man in the flesh, after he came back from Europe. Because when he saw him, he’s realized just exactly how _deep_ his feelings for the man go, and the harrowing and no less depressing realization that Miles can’t tell Peter if it risks losing the man in his life.

Miles is just—he’s trying his _best_. Ganke just finds it all dramatic and hilarious, even if he is a little concerned.

Miles should have known that things would come to a head.

* * *

It’s some B-grade villain in a half-completed construction site. The thing that brings them back together, side-to-side, ready to fight.

At this point, it’s been a few weeks of enduring injuries he keeps silent about. He still has two cracked ribs from landing in a sewer grate from the other day, and the large bruises over his chest and back from being punched off a building and not catching himself in time. All rookie mistakes, really.

So, Miles should have known that the injuries would hold him back in combat. When he punches, his whole body twinges in pain, and he’s unable to put his full strength into it. When he flips and kicks, his chest rattles from the aches, teeth always gritted to keep the worst of it at bay.

The pain is a big enough of a distraction that he doesn’t see a henchman under the B-grade villain—whose name Miles already forgot—unleash a tower of bricks right on top of him.

He cries out, because how can he not? His muscles protest and the bruises on his back scream. His senses go a little dim after that, but he’s pretty sure he heard someone call out _Spider-man,_ someone who sounds an awful lot like Peter.

When he opens his eyes, every single person is webbed up, collected neatly like a little present for the police. A pair of red spandex-clad feet enters his vision, and an empty hand reaches out to him.

“C’mon, Miles, let’s go to my apartment. You took a nasty hit. Fix you up so your mom doesn’t yell at you.” Miles reaches out blindly, trusting Peter. He doesn’t fall onto the man, but it’s a close thing, hardly able to stand on his two feet.

He’s able to swing his way to Peter’s apartment, more out of muscle memory rather than actual conscious movement. When they climb through Peter’s window, only then is Miles fully aware of where he is.

It looks better than the last time he saw it. Fresh paint, new doors, cleaner furniture. Makes sense; Peter spent the last couple of months fixing it up. He’s only caught up with his construction plans because nowadays, Miles covers Spider-man shifts more than enough for the both of them.

With full consciousness back, so do the _thoughts™._ And suddenly Miles doesn’t want to be here.

Peter has taken off his mask, and he spins on his heel after flicking the light to the living room on, grinning at Miles.

Peter’s moved twice after Aunt May died, and this apartment is bigger than the room that Miles helped him moved into over more than a year ago, where Miles had shown him his abilities.

It almost resembles Miles’ own apartment—two rooms, one bathroom and a living space—though the kitchen is also technically half the living area too. Bigger than what Peter needs, but the rent is cheap _enough_ for a photographer and a part-time scientist intern.

The space also helps when Miles wants to crash, but that hasn’t happened since before Christmas.

Miles misses Peter.

And it’s clear the feeling is mutual when Peter doesn’t know how to react to Miles being in his space, almost as if he’s forgotten how it’s like to have him over.

“Just, uh, sit down, I’ll get you some water and ice, maybe even something to wipe all that dust off. Jeez, you’re looking like a broom.”

Peter shuffles into his kitchen, grabbing a Spider-man mug and filling it will cold water—Miles’ lips twitch at the memory. He got it for Peter on his twenty-fourth birthday, along with some film for his camera. Back then, things were simpler. _Way_ simpler.

Peter hands him a wet towel and the water, pushing him back into the couch—the teenager slumping into his seat with a soft ‘oof’. “Drink that and wipe that stuff off your face. Does your head still hurt?”

_Yup._

“No, I’m okay,” Miles says, avoiding Peter’s gaze by chugging down on the water, lips parched. The slight purse to Peter’s lips is a testament to how well they really do know each other.

“I’ll get the ice.” Peter heads back into the kitchen area, and Miles busies himself with wiping the worst of the dust off of himself.

He’s not sure what to feel about being in the man’s apartment after everything—because everything seems different now, it _feels_ different. They don’t hang out like they used to, and Miles can hardly form a coherent thought around the man. And Peter can sense the change too. He’s more uncertain around Miles, less comfortable and more… twitchy.

If Miles knew him a little less, Miles wouldn’t have noticed the changes in Peter. Unfortunately, Miles _knows_ Peter, they spent the past year side-by-side, nearly daily, both in the masks and outside of it. With Miles learning the ropes as Spider-man under the gentle guidance of Peter and helping out at F.E.A.S.T. whenever they both can.

And it’s clear to Miles that their distance is _hurting_ Peter, and that Peter doesn’t know what to do.

“So, uh, since you’re crashing here,” Peter starts, face hidden behind the fridge door, tone with that familiar shade of uncertainty, as if expecting Miles to rebuff him. “You can just change into something of mine. Or—actually, I think you’ve left some of your clothes here. After that sleepover, remember? When we binged Star Trek? I got your clothes cleaned.”

Miles swallows hard, eyes closing. He shouldn’t be here, he knows this, but he’d rather deal with his own mess of emotions than hurt Peter a bit more.

“Sure, whatever is cool with you, Pete,” Miles says, smiling in the man’s direction. It’s a little easier to be at ease around the man, because Peter has that power over people—somehow the perfect mix of charming and dorky.

He stands up, leaving the glass and towel on the coffee table, limping his way to Peter’s room.

He nearly keels over when the door closes behind him, finally able to let himself relax and feel the actual extent of his injuries.

Peter’s closet is messy, just like the rest of his room, but all the clothes are clean. Miles snorts, knowing he won’t be able to find his clothes under all this mess, so he just grabs one of Peter’s shirts and sweatpants. He slides his mask off, and with a careful brush of his fingers, finds out his face is still black and blue.

He pulls the suit at his neck, using one hand to stretch it over his shoulder, doing the same for the other side, rolling the spandex down until it’s bunched up at his waist. He reaches for Peter’s shirt, rolling his eyes at the graphic on it. Only Peter would have an awful science joke t-shirt.

“Hey, Miles, I’ve got the ice, even found your shirt—”

Peter freezes in the doorway. Miles looks up.

Horrified, is what Miles would describe Peter’s face—shocked, confused. A whole slew of emotions that Miles hasn’t actually ever seen on Peter before.

This is definitely new. And new means bad. Miles can feel his power activate before he even notices it, turning him invisible in a split second.

“Miles,” Peter says softly, pained, mouth agape, voice a touch desperate. Then again, more forcefully this time, sounding like the mentor he is, “ _Miles._ ”

Miles unclenches his fists, relaxes his stature, and he fades back into visibility. The horrified expression is back, hazel wide eyes taking every single detail of Miles’ body. Miles looks down and grimaces. Ah—well, that face makes sense now.

His chest is still healing from the slash he got from a fight with a particularly stabby robber, and a couple of cracked ribs. He can’t forget the old and shiny new bruises too, spread over his chest and winding around his ribs. Some are blue, some are deep purple speckled with tiny spots of dark red, others are lighter, yellow or green, but no less terrible to look at. He makes quite a sight.

“Okay, it looks worse than it actually—”

“Don’t give me that shit, Miles,” Peter hisses, his feet unconsciously taking him closer into the room.

Okay, this is _definitely_ new _and_ bad. Peter has only sworn in front of Miles one other time and that was because he spilled coffee on himself. He’s seen the dude get shot and thrown through buildings with nothing but a wise-crack on his lips.

Miles knows when he’s being chastised and this is it.

“It’s just the fight we had, okay?” Miles tries. The unimpressed look shot his way told him he missed the mark completely.

Peter tosses the ice and shirt on the bed, and at first Miles thinks it’s because he’s going to leave but then Peter only comes closer, his expression turning to one of exasperation.

“This doesn’t just happen, Miles!” Peter says, frustrated, waving a hand at his bruises. “This is—”

Peter huffs a breath, shoulders drooping. And suddenly his eyes go sad, lips turning downwards and _oh god, the puppy dog-look._

“What's going on with you?” Peter murmurs, eyes searching Miles’. Guilt burns the back of his throat, and he wants to fix this, desperately.

“It’s okay, Pete—”

“This _isn’t_ okay, Miles, look at yourself! You look like me when I went toe-to-toe with Rhino,” Peter almost yells, fired up so quickly that it gives Miles whiplash.

Miles doesn’t cower, because it will only prove Peter right. Instead, he broadens his shoulders, standing to his full height and looks at Peter in the eye, a silent challenge.

Peter sees it for what it is, and instead of falling for it, Peter only frowns again, hands twitching at his sides. “I—I thought we tell each other things, don’t we?”

Miles bites the inside of his cheek, looking away, Peter’s tone tugging something loose in his chest. “Things have just been… They’ve been complicated. You know how it’s been, man. I’ve just had a lot of my mind lately, and I’ve gotten careless. That’s all.”

It’s silent in the room, and when Miles looks back at him, Peter is narrowing his eyes, arms crossed over his broad chest. “You’re lying.”

Miles’ heart skips a beat, and his face twists. He knows they’re close, but he expected Peter wouldn’t be able to tell he’s lying. Even his mom can’t tell sometimes.

Apparently, they’re _too_ close. Peter must have known something was wrong all this time, even after their supposed reunion at JFK a month ago. Peter’s always got a sense for that type of thing.

“This doesn’t look like it’s a one-time thing, Miles,” Peter mumbles, eyes now glued on his body. For a delirious, brief moment, Miles feels painfully self-conscious, only now realizing he’s completely shirtless in front of the young man.

Peter frowns, eyes becoming dark and curious, brows furrowing and suddenly, Miles feels pinned to the spot. Peter is staring at him, eyes unflinchingly hard, “How long has this been going on?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?”

Miles feels himself cowering, because Peter is suddenly _Spider-man_ in front of him, intimidating and powerful. It doesn’t help that Peter is still in his suit.

“Listen, Pete, I’m tired and I don’t want to deal with this—”

“No, we’re talking about this and dealing with this now. Is this why you’ve been avoiding me? Why we haven’t been hanging out?”

“It’s _not,_ ” Miles confesses, cutting him off because Peter was starting to sound _hurt_ and Miles doesn’t want to ever hear that tone in Peter’s voice again.

Peter softens, but his eyes don’t become any less expectant. The following silence reminds Miles of the phone call, how quiet Peter was when he wanted to hear Miles talk. It’s the same thing, only everything’s a lot more… serious.

“It’s not, Pete, I swear,” Miles repeats himself, stalling for time, mind racing to gather his thoughts.

“It’s a side effect but not the reason,” Miles says.

Peter grimaces, but his eyes grow softer. “Then, what is, Miles?”

Miles knows he’s trapped. He’s stuck in a corner and there’s only two ways to get out of it. Lying to Peter’s face, knowing the man would be able to see through it, possibly leading the man to push further or only be hurt by his lies, both horrible outcomes. _Or—_ Miles can tell the truth.

He’s not sure which one is worse. The dramatic, teenage side of him says the latter.

He gathers the little amount of courage he has left, his nerves fraying to the point Miles can feel his senses go wild. He forces the swell of fear down and pushes the words out.

“I like you.” Peter tilts his head slightly, not expecting that.

Then, Peter’s brows fly to his hairline. Immediately, Miles backtracks.

“No, no, that’s not it,” Miles fumbles, “I’m lying.”

Peter’s brows go back to normal, but he doesn’t relax. His eyes are open, wide, and too kind.

Is this the right choice?

“I—I’m…”

Miles knows what’s at stake here. His friendship with Peter, _Peter_ himself. It’s a lot to lose and Miles doesn’t know if he wants to gamble.

“You see…”

Miles can feel the tips of his fingers vanish, his powers dipping right into his emotions, his invisibility crawling up his forearms.

Peter starts to frown, and he lets his arms fall to his sides, crossing the room, mouth opening—

“I love you, Pete.”

In the tone that Miles says it, the meaning is not lost on the genius. Peter goes to stock still. The room freezes.

And Miles regrets it instantly.

 _I love you, Pete—_ God, he sounds like a _child_ begging for more attention, his young voice trembling and high, needy.

Miles hates it. He hates everything about this.

Miles can feel his heartbeat in every injury, blood pumping with adrenaline that doesn’t know where to go.

“Miles,” Peter trails off, voice soft (—always so goddamn soft—), eyes wide, hands frozen in the air.

Something fills Peter’s gaze, something so unfamiliar and unknown—Miles can’t identify that emotion, can’t parse it, because his sight is becoming blurry. _Oh god, am I crying?_

The weight of what he’s done crashes down on him, and—it feels hard to breathe, his chest concaving and cracking because Peter isn’t saying anything _,_ isn’t doing _anything—_

Miles would take outright rejection rather than this shell-shocked expression and he

 _Mierda—_ he can’t be here. He can’t—everything’s too much.

“I-I can’t be here, I _can’t—”_ Miles scrambles to pull his suit back up to his shoulders, turns on his heel, opens the window and webs behind him for his mask.

“ _Miles, no!”_ He can hear the fast footsteps, Peter racing to reach out towards him, but he’s shot out a web, feels warm fingers leave a searing heat on his back for a split second before he’s out in the freezing New York air.

He knows Peter won’t swing out without his mask, so he’s able to buy himself some time to swing away. He makes it three blocks before his sharp hearing hears the rattle of someone jumping off a fire escape.

Miles is quick and light, but what Peter makes up for being heavier is his strength and experience. Miles won’t be able to outswing him. He immediately arcs towards a roof, sticking to a wall of the door to a stairway in the shadows. He’s high off of enough adrenaline to unconsciously activate his invisibility.

It’s horrible how well Peter knows Miles, because he lands right on the water tank that Miles was just on, head swivelling left and right, trying to catch a black and red figure swooping in the air that isn’t there.

“Miles?” Peter calls out, desperate and shaky. “Miles, please, we need to talk.”

Miles covers his mouth to stifle his breaths, knowing just how well Peter can hear.

Peter lifts up a hand to swing away, presumably thinking Miles has gone in the other direction. Miles is barely able to let out a sigh of relief before Peter stops, tilts his head—like his senses are telling him something—and he—

—he _shudders_.

Miles has a feeling it’s not because of the cold.

Peter relaxes back onto his perch, looking around once again and sighs, “I know you’re around here. I can feel you.”

Miles’ stomach plummets, his senses singing.

“C’mon, bud, don’t leave me hanging,” Peter says, huffing humorlessly, a pained smile in his voice. He’s trembling, Miles can see, his body taut, ready to leap toward something—or rather, someone.

“I understand you’re scared and I—” Peter starts, but he cuts himself off quick. He dips his head, looking defeated. He breathes in sharply, words soft, “but please, come out?”

Miles’ eyes prick, a lump forming in his throat. He knows how horrible—how awful he’s being, but he can’t, he _can’t._

Peter waits for a moment, lenses narrowing as if he’d be able to see Miles through the dark _and_ with his invisibility.

He slumps. “Okay.”

Miles wants to cry. Peter sounds— _crushed._

“Okay, Miles. I’ll go.” Peter looks over his shoulder, scanning the area again, “Talk to me whenever you’re ready.”

Peter hesitates as if he’s expecting Miles to appear right before him, but he shakes his head, then shoots out a web back in the direction of his apartment.

Miles lets out a shaky breath, pressing his head against the brick wall.

_What have I done?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles avoids Peter like the plague. He didn't think that Peter would be stubborn as he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally, these two idiots lmao.  
> I just realised I never specified which Peter face is *in* the story. For me, when I was writing it, I kept switching between the two mostly because I don't mind either. You guys can envision Peter whichever way yall want  
> Anyway, yay! New chapter!

Miles doesn’t do any Spider-man stuff for the entire weekend. Because it’s the first way Peter would try to catch him unguarded, other than spamming his phone with texts and calls.

Miles knows it’s a matter of time before Peter steps it up.

And he’s proven right—once he gets home from school on the Monday after he spilt his heart out to Peter. (He makes sure he doesn’t take the normal route back, winding through alleyways and using his invisibility now and then. He knows it's overkill, but he’s learned it’s better to be too careful.)

He knows it’s Peter the moment he knocks on his apartment door because no one else raps the door like a drum like Peter does.

His mother, standing in the kitchen, shoots him a look. Miles, who’s sitting in the living room, only bolts up to his feet. He can’t bring himself to move, only able to fade into nothing right when his mother opens the door.

“Ms. Morales! Great to see you.” Peter sounds… okay. But then mom opens the door wider and—oh.

Peter does _not_ look okay. He looks like he hasn’t slept, the circles under his eyes dark, blinking blearily at his mother. He’s a little pale, hands twitchy like he’s on his eighth coffee of the day.

“Is Miles home?”

His mom purses her, pulls on a polite smile and says, “Miles is doing okay. He’s not here, though.”

Miles feels vulnerable, standing in the living space in the open like this. But it doesn’t matter, Peter can’t even see him.

“Oh,” Peter says, dejected. He tilts his head, frowning a bit, brows furrowed, looks up and—

Peter looks right at him.

Miles’ feet are stuck, unable to pull his gaze away either.

How’s that possible? Peter can’t even _see_ him.

Then, Miles feels a warm shiver run down his back, heavy and insistent. His eyes are glued on Peter, who _shudders_ at the exact same moment and the realization hits Miles, knows what Peter meant.

Their spidey-senses are practically pinging off each other. Peter _knows_ he’s here.

“Are you cold? I’ve got hot chocolate on the stove.”

“Ah,” Peter says, half breathless, hand coming up to rub the nape of his neck, right at the spot where Miles is feeling the warmest tingle swarm, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing. “I’m okay, Ms. Morales. Thanks for offering, though. We can do a raincheck.”

His mother grins at him, but Peter doesn’t stop glancing towards the living room, as if he can really see Miles there. Peter grins back, but it holds a tinge of wry hurt that Miles can’t quite interpret.

Peter says his goodbyes, but not before one last look at exactly where Miles is standing.

He pops back to visibility once his mother locks the door. His mom turns around, arms crossed and face stern. “Mijo, why are you avoiding Peter? The boy looks like a kicked puppy.”

“Ma!”

* * *

Miles cracks on the fifth day, knowing he can’t shirk his responsibilities as Spider-man any longer. It also seems like Peter had passed out from exhaustion, because by the fourth day, he stopped swinging through the city streets.

Besides, Miles was getting more restless not being able to do a single thing. So, he decides to risk facing Peter and go out as Spider-man.

The first day, thankfully, is free of any brunet geniuses. He saved a cat out of a tree and returned someone’s robbed laptop. Overall, he’d call it a good day.

He starts to go out as Spider-man more regularly, having had enough of being a coward—hiding from Peter and his own feelings.

He’s Spider-man, damn it. He should be able to handle this.

At the week mark after the _Incident_ (Ganke started calling it that, and it caught on because Miles doesn’t want to call it _The worst mistake Miles has ever made)_ , Peter calls Ganke, at the worst possible time.

Miles is swinging through Harlem, away from Peter’s side of the city, getting updates from Ganke when all of a sudden, his friend stops mid-sentence.

“Uh, incoming call. On my phone.”

“From who?” Miles asks, running along the edge of a building.

“Peter Parker.”

Miles trips over his own shoes, falling right off the building. He catches himself with a web and a quick flip, landing none-too-gently on a brick wall.

“ _What?”_

“Yeah,” Ganke says, a little too uncertain.

“Are you going to answer?” Miles asks, voice high-pitched. Ganke sighs, “I don’t know. I think I should. I mean he did go by your house a few days ago. He’s getting desperate at this point; he just doesn’t want to ambush you.”

Miles sighs too, knowing exactly what Ganke is talking about. He knows that Peter doesn’t want to spook him, but his attempts at being subtle _aren’t_ subtle.

“Answer it.”

“Okay, I’ll hang up on you—”

“No!” Miles rushes in, “Uh. Keep the line open. I’ll just mute myself.”

“Secret three-way call, huh? Smart,” Ganke comments. “Okay, I’m answering now.”

Miles taps his earpiece, muting his side of the line just as Ganke’s speaker pops to life.

“Ganke! Hey!” Miles’ heart skips a ridiculous, childish, awful beat.

“Hey, Pete. What’s up? Need anything?”

“Straight to the chase, huh?” Peter says, nervously, “I like it.”

“I know you’re calling about Miles, so, spill.”

Miles snorts. God, he loves Ganke.

“Ah, right, well,” Peter huffs, and Miles recognizes the strain in his voice. He’s out Spider-manning.

“I just wanted to check in, see how my little protégé’s doing. I know he’s avoiding me and all, but is there anything that Miles wants to tell me? Any messages?”

Ganke pauses, and Miles knows he’s considering telling Peter what Miles told him—which was, essentially, _everything._

Miles doesn’t like that implication, but he doesn’t want to blow his cover by warning Ganke.

“I think Miles needs a little more time,” Ganke says eventually. Peter sighs, or heaves, Miles can’t really tell because he’s basically panting over the line.

“He’s not ready to face you. He needs to get his thoughts in order, you know?”

“Yeah,” There it is again, that dejected tone, the same when Peter visited Miles’ apartment. “I understand. Is he, at least, okay?”

Ganke pauses.

“Ganke?”

“He’s managing.” Miles rolls his eyes so hard. Ganke isn’t wrong but _damn,_ couldn’t he make it sound a little better?

“Right. That’s what he says when he’s not okay too,” Peter says, a little low, chuckling humorlessly.

“Yup, that’s Miles for us,” Ganke agrees.

“Come _on_ , Ganke,” Miles hisses under his breath.

“Who was that?”

Miles jolts. Lead forms in his stomach when he sees that he _didn’t_ mute the call.

“Uh, just my—my cat,” Ganke hurries.

“Was that _Miles?_ Miles? Hey, buddy—”

“Okay, that’s it,” Ganke says, cutting the line to Peter.

It’s dead silence for a moment.

“That went well.”

“I’m ‘ _managing’?_ Really, Ganke?”

“What did you expect, Mr. ‘ _I was too distracted by my crush to realize I didn’t mute my call’.”_

* * *

It’s week two of avoiding Peter. Really, at this point, he’s not sure who should get the medal for being more stubborn. Peter still hasn’t let up on texting and calling him, even calling Ganke a couple more times before realizing he won’t reach Miles that way.

His mentor is stuck to only texting a phone that’s turned off most of the time, calling a line that doesn’t pick up.

Miles has gotten used to the guilt, but the shame and embarrassment help drown it out too. Whenever he thinks of talking to Peter, to apologize and fix their friendship, he returns back to that night in Peter’s apartment, when he shed his own skin and told Peter what was exactly the predicament he found himself tangled in.

The whole mess has gotten bad enough that even the podcasts have picked up on it. Danika Hart talks about the lack of Spider-men team-ups, while JJJ brings up his relief that the two menaces are easier to deal with alone rather than being stuck at the hip together.

All in all, Miles is now fully aware there is _no_ way they can go back to what they had before. Things just don’t work out that way.

If Peter would forgive him, and he _would,_ Miles isn’t sure if he can live with the knowledge the Peter _knows_. It would be unsettling and uncomfortable and weird, especially if Peter would try to brush it under the rug.

So, yeah, a soft no on the rekindling of their friendship. At least for now, especially with all the ghosting that Miles has been doing.

It’s just unfortunate that ignoring Peter doesn’t mean he’s able to ignore the problem completely.

Miles still take unnecessary hits, still too distracted by everything to really push himself to dodge perfectly, to move quicker than his mind can catch up. His instincts aren’t much help either, also affected by what’s clouding his mind, so his performance as Spider-man suffers too. It’s clear in how many more bruises show up on his skin.

* * *

Miles knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the old, abandoned construction site. He followed an anonymous tip from the app, telling him there were some shifty groups hanging around. Somehow, the worst things always happen in places like these.

And he was right when a group of ten or so Raft escapees come out of hiding, flanking Miles.

His stomach twists when he feels the familiar shake of the ground. He didn’t know what happened to Rhino after he and Phin fought him together. He’d assumed that the authorities took him in after that, but then again, he didn’t hear any news of Rhino getting captured.

Guess this is what happens when he gets a little _too_ careless.

“Hello again, little Spider.”

Miles’ smile under the mask turns sardonic, the fear tickling his throat. “What’s up, bro. Long time no see.”

Rhino’s armor is still damaged—a suit that was clearly poorly repaired and cobbled together at the last minute. Miles wouldn’t have any problem taking him down.

If only he wasn’t having performance issues too, in his own way.

Miles tries to hold out on his own, doing his best in trying to subdue everyone and avoid getting his bruises becoming… _bruisier._

He must have said something rude, probably something about gooses, if he goes by Rhino’s sudden burst of anger, because he shakes Miles’ off his back, which the teenager definitely did not expect. Miles flies several feet, skids across the ground, hands slipping as he tries to slow himself down with his sticky fingers.

He knows he’s screwed the moment he feels the ground’s tremors. Rhino sprinting in his direction, fast and heavy. Miles knows he can take the hits, hard shoves of Rhinos’ metal fists or an awful tackle, but he just doesn’t like it, especially when his whole body is already throbbing. With the speed and the weight, Miles will likely pass out from the hits. He just hopes he will wake up fast enough to stop Rhino from crushing his head between his fists.

He waits with bated breath, tensing his body for the impact, body shaking along with the beat of Rhino’s steps.

_Five, four, three, two—_

A loud, determined yell makes Miles perk up, and he opens his eyes quickly enough to see a red blur— _Peter_ —swing right before Rhino, his hand grabbing into the suit’s horn and yanking him away from Miles’ direction.

With Peter here, Miles knows that Rhino is unmatched, and he can’t help but whoop in excited triumph, ignoring the niggling worry that will haunt him later when things will inevitably get serious.

But he quietens when he realizes just how _quickly_ Peter will take Rhino down because—

Peter is _ruthless._

Miles is stunned, truly, irrevocably stunned. Peter is so fast, so strong, fists zipping at incredible speeds that even Miles’ enhanced vision, he can’t count how many punches he’s raining down on the suited man. It’s almost scary, how quick, how _brutal,_ Peter can be— _is._

He’s swinging, twisting in the air with webs and flipping with inhuman elegance. He doesn’t even use any of his tech, taking down Rhino with sheer brute _force._

Vicious, powerful, fierce, _aggressive_ —Miles can go on, because watching Peter is a treat; a reminder of who exactly Spider-man is: a superhero who’s taken down every villain he has come across.

The fight is over as soon as it started, Rhino not having expected such an attack. Rhino collapses to the ground, sending the building tremoring under his weight. Peter is perched atop the armor, head swivelling to look at the other escapees, lenses narrowed and sharp. The inmates get the message quickly, their guns clattering to the ground.

The moment Peter’s gaze lands on him, the lenses widen, Peter’s focus no longer laser-sharp, but he doesn’t lose that tension, still thrumming with violent energy, when he stands up and strides across the empty space towards Miles.

Miles’ heart is racing, and he’s unsure why. He’s unsure if it’s because of the inevitable uncomfortable conversation, the fact Peter just absolutely _destroyed_ Rhino and looked hot while doing it, the fact that Peter is sort of looking like murder at the moment, or if it’s a mixture of all three.

Miles gets to his feet, tripping backwards the closer Peter comes. Miles’s eyes widen under his suit when Peter doesn’t stop approaching him.

“Okay, P—Spider-man, uh, I’ll be going—” Miles turns around, ready to break into a sprint and swing away.

“ _No.”_ An iron grip circles around his wrist—not tight, just firm. Miles’ instincts don’t react too well to that, and he tries to pull away.

Peter only does the most logical thing and _throws_ Miles over his shoulder like a goddamn caveman, leaping out of the big empty windowpane, swinging away from the construction site.

“ _Hey!_ C’mon, man!” Miles yells over the wind, trying to lean and catch Peter’s eyes, but the snow flying onto his mask and lenses make it harder to see.

“Pete! C’mon, let me go. Dude, this is embarrassing _._ ”

“ _No!”_ Peter yells back, and Miles can’t help but roll his eyes hard. To his own ears, they both sound like petulant children. _Wonder where I learned that from,_ Miles thinks dryly.

“We’re talking. You and me. Right now. You’re not running away, Miles, because to be honest, I’m so tired and I’m a little angry and I’m done waiting, I’m done chasing after you, done playing this game.”

Miles huffs, grunting when Peter’s shoulder digs into a bruise.

“This is crazy, Pete! You said you’d wait when I was ready.”

“At this rate, you weren’t ever going to be.” Miles’ mouth shuts. Peter is right. If Miles got his way, there would never be a conversation resolving everything between them. Peter bounces him in his grip, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Miles’ silence is a resounding answer, and Peter can only say under his breath, exasperated, “Miles.”

He knows he shouldn’t try to escape because Peter is at the end of his rope right now, but Miles can’t do this. He really _can’t._

He lifts his right and shoots off a web blindly, feels it connect to a wall and pulls, twisting his body in Peter’s hold. For a split moment, he’s free—Peter’s warm hand no longer a firm pressure against his side.

But then, Peter spins mid-air, grabs onto Miles’ other wrist and yanks him free in a swift motion.

_Woah, he is strong._

Peter doesn’t even heave a breath when he throws Miles up into the air, catching him against his chest and uses his web to jerk the both of them towards a rooftop, away from prying eyes.

They land on the side of a water tank—and by land, he means that Peter sticks on it, with Miles held against his chest. He’s stuck between Peter and the wall of the water tank, Peter’s arms bracketing Miles’ shoulders, knees astride Miles’ thighs.

Miles is sticking to the water tank too, his feet planted on the wall under Peter, his sticky fingertips just brushing Peter’s knees, elbows resting against the metal wall.

It’s terribly intimate—because they’re facing each other too, panting the same air. Miles is trapped, and he knows there’s no way he can escape this.

“Talk,” Peter says, hoarse, low and still— _still so goddamn soft,_ as if he didn’t just absolutely ruin Rhino’s armor like it was cardboard.

“No,” Miles grits out impulsively. Peter doesn’t react, his lenses only narrowing at him.

“Miles,” he says again, exasperated.

“Peter.”

“Goddamnit, _Miles._ I can’t keep doing this. I don’t like this any more than you do. Please—please, just talk to me,” Peter’s voice cracks, desperate and distraught.

Miles can hardly think straight. Peter is so close, and he’s so warm, running hot from the batshit insane fight not even two minutes ago. Even with the snow and the frigid January air, Miles still feels like he’s standing at the edge of a fireplace.

Warm. Inviting. Everything that’s Peter.

“I missed you,” Miles mumbles, impulsively again. Peter’s lenses shutter, like he’s blinking rapidly under the mask. It’s kind of funny. But also, not. Because he just said he _missed Peter._ Really, he’s, like, half sure he has a concussion at this point.

Miles feels exhausted all of a sudden, and the injuries make themselves known.

He groans, knocking his head back onto the water tank, the metal denting under it.

“What hurts?” Peter asks, warm breath ghosting over Miles’ face.

“Everything,” Miles admits. He closes his eyes under the mask and lets himself _feel._

The cracks in his chest reappear—splintering and gaping wide, the weight on his shoulders getting heavier and heavier until Miles can’t shoulder any more, the lump in his throat getting sharper to the point tears prick his eyes.

It’s too hot, too closed up, too much everything—and Miles sucks in a breath, one hand shooting up to fumble for his mask, whipping it off his face.

The freezing air nips at his nose and ears instantly, but it’s good for his flushed face, good for the hot tears on his cheeks. _Not_ good for suddenly facing Peter, mask-less and open and vulnerable.

His stomach twists and his heart tumbles to his feet when Peter doesn’t waste a moment to take his mask off too and—oh shit

Yeah, Miles regrets taking his mask off. Because every sense of his is filled to the brim of _Peter._ The feel of his breath over his face, the scent of detergent and singed cloth and cheap cologne, the sight of Peter’s own flushed face—cheeks, nose and tips of his ears a bright pink that’s disgustingly adorable and Miles doesn’t really know what to do—the sound of his shuddering breath and the near-silent, “ _Miles.”_

Miles cracks, a sob welling up in his throat. Why is he crying? God, why is he being so _weird?_ His shoulders shake and he can’t take more of Peter’s open, earnest, warm face. He dips his head forward, resting his forehead against Peter’s collarbone.

Peter tenses up for a brief moment, but a gentle hand rests on the nape of his neck. Peter doesn’t touch flesh, hand safe on the spandex of Miles’ suit. Safe. Warm. Protective.

“Pete,” he murmurs. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing, only a part of his brain dimly aware that one hand unsticks from the metal wall to wrap around Peter’s waist—not pulling, not tightening, just sitting there.

“Bud,” Peter chokes out, the muscles under Miles’ hand twitching before Peter—

Peter leans into his chaste touch, the thumb on Miles’ neck now stroking a steady rhythm.

You see, Miles understands why Peter is doing this. The man is too kind for his own good, always has been. It is why Miles has always felt like trash, knowing he’s pushing the man to his limits despite knowing he _shouldn’t._

Because Miles has more to lose, doesn’t he? If he went ahead with the proceedings, he’d lose one of his best friends, his mentor, the person he—he _loves_ and admires. And after he lost Phin, Miles doesn’t know where to go. He can’t bring himself to lie to Peter, not after he did that to Phin. Instead, he can run, he can hide, and hope Peter doesn’t give chase.

But he should have known better. He and Peter are too alike sometimes, and Miles doesn’t remember a time he faltered in his chase for the Tinkerer—determined to bring Phin back and fix things.

He knows he shouldn’t love Peter like this because it just isn’t and shouldn’t be logical. Peter has been his friend the whole time, his brother, his partner in fighting crime. So why did everything have to change? Why did Miles have to suddenly switch his perspective and fall for a person he can’t ever have?

_Bright green-brown eyes, beaming, peeking over behind a huge plume of cotton candy._

_Exuberant grin, hands clapping when Miles shoots the target dead-center._

_Teary eyes and stifled voice, vehemently denying he’s crying, hiding behind the bag of popcorn they snuck into the theatre._

_“I know you won’t hear this until the whole fight is over, so I hope everything turns out oka—holy—oh my god, Miles!”_

_“Hey, hey, no, no, no, none of that. I wanna talk—let’s talk, okay? I want to hear from you. You’re not bothering me at all.”_

_“Please don’t hang up.”_

_“I know this is going to sound really selfish of me right now, but I really wished you had called me to come back.”_

_“I know you’re around here. I can feel you.”_

_“Okay, I trust you.”_

When Miles puts it that way… He’s surprised he didn’t realize his feelings _sooner_.

He’s not sure when it started, whether the first feelings of hero worship simply melded into his own fondness for the dorky scientist. If it began from their shared feelings of grief and pain, losing important figures in their lives not too soon after each other. If it sparked the moment Peter flipped onto the ceiling with him, giving a secret out so freely and easily like that—especially after all the betrayals he’s gone through.

It doesn’t matter at this point, because Peter _knows_ and Miles can’t take back what he said, no matter how much he wants to.

“I’m so, _so_ sorry, Peter,” Miles chokes out. He feels Peter shake his head. “Shh, it’s okay.”

_I’m sorry._

_It’s okay._

He says it again anyway, like a prayer he can’t quite get out of his head. He’s silenced when Peter slides his hands further up his neck, higher still, until his fingers touch flesh, higher until he’s brushing over Miles’ jaw, reaching his chin, and gently nudging Miles’ head up. With his eyes still closed, Miles feels Peter slide his hand onto the back of his head, pulling and bringing them closer until their foreheads are pressed together—incredibly intimate and incredibly painful.

“It’s okay, Miles.”

He tightens his hold on Peter, who only pulls him closer in until Miles’ hands aren’t sticking on the wall, taking Miles’ weight like it’s nothing.

“Talk to me,” Peter quietly says. Not a command, not a request, just a simple, gentle reminder that Peter is still left in the dark.

Miles doesn’t pull away, but it’s a close thing. His eyes open and he’s a little startled to see Peter already staring at him.

“I can’t,” Miles says simply. Peter searches his eyes.

_Because I’m scared, Pete. I’m scared that one day, when I really need you, you won’t be there. And it’s worse because I think I’m in love with you._

Both of Miles arms wind around the man, who presses himself closer to the wall until he’s flushed against Miles.

“Anything hurts? Gotten worse?” Peter asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Miles only hums. “It’s not so bad.”

Peter huffs, and Miles can feel the vibrations of the laugh rattling his brain.

“Now I know it’s real bad.”

They stuck like that for a moment or two, the seconds stretching out like taffy, thick and viscous—Miles loses track of time. It doesn’t help that sleep is tugging him under, the lull of Peter’s breathing and warmth bringing him closer to unconsciousness than any noise machine could ever.

Miles knows they can’t stay like this forever, so he pulls away first, opening his eyes. Peter is flushed, pinker than before, snowflakes in his light brown hair and over his dark eyelashes. Deep hazel eyes blink open and Miles’ breath is stolen right out of his lungs.

“My apartment?” Peter says quietly.

Miles nods, not trusting his voice at the moment.

Peter waits until Miles puts on his mask to slide on his own. Miles is about to pull away from the embrace to swing back to his apartment, but Peter only squeezes the back of Miles’ neck gently—a delightful shiver running down his spine in the worst way—and mutters in Miles’ ear, “Hold on tight.”

* * *

The heat in Peter’s apartment is on. He must have been at home when he heard about Miles going toe-to-toe with Rhino, because the television is still on too, right on the news channel.

Peter doesn’t let Miles down until he’s in front of the sofa, gently laying him down, going back to close the window he crawled through.

Miles sits up, feeling his stomach form lead. He wasn’t entirely sure what happened at that water tank, but he’s not going to make any assumptions that everything with Peter is fixed right up. He’s cautious when Peter takes his mask off and stares wordlessly at Miles, expression unreadable.

“Take off your suit. I’ll get the ice.”

Peter moves towards the fridge, still in his own Spider-suit. Miles doesn’t want to get up, partly because he doesn’t want a rerun of what happened the last time he was here, and also every part of him aches.

He takes his mask off and tugs on the neck of his suit, pulling it away from his shoulders and rolling it down to his waist. Peter doesn’t have the same horrified look from before, but it’s pinched. He sits on the coffee table, between Miles’ legs.

“You can lay down if it’s more comfortable.” Peter has the large medkit by his side, a large bag of ice in his hand.

Miles lays down, not saying a single word, and Peter starts to rummage through the medkit. He pulls out the alcohol wipes, likely for the swallow grazes from being dragged across grounds.

Peter starts work on the prominent open wounds, terribly gentle in a way that makes Miles’ head spin because not half an hour ago, he saw him take down Rhino like it was nothing. Now, he’s careful, methodical. The contrast is addicting.

“I’m not going to pry. Not going to ask anything but this one thing. And I want you to be truthful.”

Miles swallows hard, staring at Peter, who only meets his eyes when he delivers the gut-punch of a question.

“Did you mean it?”

Miles’ fists clench. He can feel his power take away his fingers first.

Miles doesn’t know how much longer he has with Peter. He doesn’t know if the man will want him around any longer, if he’ll want to see Miles the moment he knows the _extent_ of Miles’ feelings. Because it should be weird to him. To fully realize that his friend, his _student_ , is practically in love with him, especially when there was no evidence beforehand pointing to that conclusion.

But maybe it’s a good thing. Peter won’t want to stay, so Miles might as well go all in. There is no way out but through. Besides, Peter is _hurting_ the longer Miles put everything under lock and key. And Miles doesn’t like that, doesn’t like that he’s making Peter feel horrible. He hates it. There is no other way out of this. 

Peter won't want him after, and maybe that's good. Because Peter will stop hurting. Besides, it's okay. Miles is the one who'll get hurt in the end, not Peter.

Just like Peter, Miles is at the end of his rope too. 

He forces himself to relax, fingers phasing back. There’s no danger. Not here. Not when he’s with Peter.

“Yeah,” Miles croaks, before nodding, “Still do.”

Peter’s brows twitch, and the expressiveness comes swooping right back. That stoic mask not lasting long. His mouth gapes, his eyes crinkling at the corners a little.

But he doesn’t say a word, only shuts his mouth with a click, nods and goes right back to cleaning Miles’ wounds.

“When did you figure it out?”

“You said you weren’t going to pry.”

“Right, sorry,” Peter says bashfully, eyes trained on Miles’ chest. He rummages through the kit to pick out colorful band-aids.

Miles picks at the thread poking at the edge of the sofa cushion, eyes glued on it.

“The phone call.”

“Hmm? What phone call?” Peter asks absentmindedly, sticking the band-aids carefully onto Miles’ skin. Then, he stops and looks up.

“Ah, _that_ phone call.” Peter purses his lips, staring at Miles curiously. “No wonder you were so weird after that.”

Miles laughs a little bitterly, “Yeah. Guess I wasn’t subtle enough.”

Peter eyes him. “You definitely weren’t subtle. But I definitely didn’t expect it to be about that.”

Miles smiles, the grin stretched awkwardly across his lips. “If it helps you feel any better, neither did I.”

Miles holds Peter’s gaze. A bit of that fear had shed away a bit, now that everything has come to light. Miles doesn’t really have anything to hide anymore.

All of a sudden, Peter blinks, eyes darting away with a look that’s difficult to parse.

He’s silent when he goes back to cleaning a graze, which is so unlike Peter that it leaves Miles a little unsettled. He nudges Peter with his fist, “S’okay. You can ask me. I’ll answer where I can.”

Peter looks up at him. “You sure?”

Miles nods, lips twitching. “Yeah, of course.”

Peter holds his gaze. “How much do you—?”

Miles’ face closes in on that, and Peter curses under his breath, “Hey, no I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked the hard questions first. I’ll ask something else. Okay, uh, did you tell Ganke?”

Miles nods, lips tightly zipped. He doesn’t know if he’ll cry again if he opens his mouth.

Peter pats his knee, eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” Miles says, forgiving the man immediately. Peter wouldn’t ever mean true harm.

“It’s still not okay. I wanted to get a reaction from you, see where the limit was. I’m sorry, Miles.”

The teenager shrugs. “I’m sorry too.”

Peter furrows his brows. “For what?”

“For making you feel… bad whenever you’re around me.”

At Peter’s curious head tilt, he elaborates, “I don’t know, man. It felt like you changed after you came back from Symkaria too. And it’s my fault. You talk to me like you’re treading on eggshells. I haven’t been making it easy for you either, Pete.”

Understanding dawns on his face. Peter smiles, shaking his head. “It’s not ‘cause of the phone call. It was ‘cause of me.”

Peter huffs a laugh, eyes darting away to fixate on a point over Miles’ shoulder. “I was afraid you didn’t want to talk to me afterwards. Thought I’d broken a boundary somewhere, and I was too stubborn to ask what was wrong. Simply assumed you didn’t want me around anymore.”

Miles stares at him, stunned, before cracking up. “That’s stupid. What a pair we make.”

Peter grins. “You got that right, bud.”

The following silence is easier, less tense and heavy. Peter is laying a muscle balm over the blooms of purple and blue, gloved fingers light and gentle. Even then, Miles winces.

Peter’s hands still. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, just—just a little sensitive, s’all. Haven’t treated any of the bruises in a while.” Peter nods, going slower this time.

Which Miles immediately hates because suddenly the slow drags of Peter’s fingers are hot against his skin, a blazing trail left wherever he touched despite the spandex.

_This is how I die. This is it, boys._

“You ever, uh—” Peter’s fingers twitch, the movement making Miles tense up too, and Miles watches with a morbid sort of fascination at Peter’s earnest reaction—eyes going widening a fraction, cheeks suddenly flushing, staring down at Miles.

“Pete?”

“Uh, yeah. You ever had this for, um, anyone else?” Peter asks, starting his ministrations again. He's not looking at Miles’ eyes.

It’s Miles’ turn to blush. “No,” he admits softly, restless.

“At least not this… intense,” he mutters, feeling lame and too _young._ Peter nods in understanding. “It’s confusing, right? Like you’re not sure if it’s legitimate or if it’s being a teenager that’s dialing all the feelings up to eleven.”

Miles nods in agreement, “Yeah. Took me a while to get it all figured out.”

Peter hums, pressing his palm down gently on the area of Miles’ cracked rib. The teen flinches, hisses under his breath.

“Sorry,” Peter mumbles. “I don’t think it’s broken, so you’re in the clear.”

“Woo, no punctured lungs,” Miles jokes, and Peter swipes a hand over the other side of his torso, which immediately wipes the smile off of Miles. The teenager has to lean his head back, hiding the expression on his heated face.

“So, what do you think? You think you got everything figured out?” Peter asks, tossing the tube of muscle balm back into his med kit, passing the ice to Miles’ hands.

Miles brushes his fingers against Peter’s, placing the ice over his side, right where Rhino had shoved his fist into, a hit that threw him through drywall.

“I think things have found their place. More or less. I just need to know where a few things stand,” Miles says quietly but no less serious. He meets Peter’s gaze unflinchingly.

“Well? How’s that going?”

“It’s still in the air,” Miles mumbles, blinking down at Peter’s hands, “Some signs are confusing. Just worried I won’t have the chance to clarify them.”

Peter’s brows twitch, blinking openly at Miles.

"What am I going to do with you?" Peter says softly, and Miles flinches. 

A vibration shakes down his leg, and Peter pulls away, eyes roaming all over the room.

Miles pulls his phone out, and he deflates.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just—”

Miles doesn’t have to go anywhere; his mom having seen the news. She knows he’s probably safe in Spider-man’s lair or something, told him that he can stay the night if he’d like. The only problem is that Miles doesn’t _want_ to. He'd wanted an excuse to escape.

This conversation with Peter has only confirmed one thing—this thing he has for Pete will not simply go away. It's clear to Miles now. And if he wants to minimise the damage, try to fix whatever they have left, Miles has to leave before he does something stupid.

His head is like a pendulum, lost and swinging between wanting to stay next to Peter and tell him every little thought in his head—in spite of his own feelings, in spite of the fact their friendship is only crashing and burning at the moment—and wanting to leave and fix whatever they have left because Miles also hates the fact Peter won't be in his life but Peter _knows_ and Miles still doesn't know what to do.

Everything points to him losing Peter either way.

Miles reaches for his mask as he gets to his feet, putting his phone away. “I’m going home.”

“ _What?”_ Peter rushes to his feet too, stumbling after Miles who’s already half-way to the window. “Hey, no, don’t, you’re still injured and you’re clearly not okay, just crash here and—”

“No, Pete.” Miles turns around. He’s struck by how easily Peter towers over him.

“I can’t stay. I _really_ can’t. This isn’t—” Miles frowns, the words like glass in his mouth. “I can’t go back to the way things were and pretend, bro. It’s just not—me. I really can’t do that.”

He looks up and—oh. Peter is—Pete’s _heartbroken._ There’s no way around it. The look injects venom right into Miles’ veins.

“Miles, bud, please—”

“We can be friends, even still be partners in fighting crime again,” Miles tries to smile, but it probably ended up looking like a grimace. He has to do this, if he wants to salvage their friendship as best he can. “But not now, and not for a while. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. Maybe try to get over you? Try to forget what happened? Either way, I need more time.”

Peter is shaking his head frantically and to Miles’ horror, there are tears springing to his friend’s eyes. It looks wrong on someone who always exudes sunshine and kindness.

“It’s just how it is, man,” Miles softens his tone, as much as he can, like Peter always does for him.

Peter extends a hand, but it freezes mid-air before dropping back to his side. The older man looks to the side, swallowing hard. “Does this mean I can’t see you as Peter, either?”

Miles shakes his head. “We can work as Spider-men together, I promise. But anything more than business, it won’t take, Pete. I’m sorry.”

“I—” Peter chokes, hands clenching and unclenching. Powerful, unchecked strength.

Peter’s hurt, he’s _crying_ and it’s Miles’ fault. This is why he can’t be around Peter. “I understand.”

Miles nods, slips on his mask, turns around.

“Actually— _no.”_

Miles stops in his tracks.

“I can’t imagine you being alone out there again, Miles. After what happened with Roxxon and what nearly happened today—I _can’t_ handle the thought I can’t be there for you.”

Miles feels like someone just tore a hole right through his chest and read out every secret held tightly to his heart.

“With Roxxon, I couldn’t—I wasn’t there for you and I’m so, so sorry for that, I am.” Peter takes in a shaky breath, and with a tone that brooked no argument, “And I don’t want to make the same mistake again, I _won’t—”_

“So, what are you gonna do, huh, Pete?” Miles turns back around, yanks off his mask again, tone challenging. Peter steps back quick, eyes wide. “Are you going to swing over my shoulder again? Pretend as if everything’s that happened never _happened?_ You can’t do _anything._ So, what, Pete? _What are you going to do?”_

Peter’s flushed, ready to yell something back. But something in his expression flickers. Miles swears he can see the moment that Peter switches gears, because suddenly he’s broadening his shoulders, straightening out his back—the stance he takes right before a fight.

“What, Pete? You gonna punch me?”

“No,” Peter says, jaw clenched.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

Miles’ heart stops.

“What?”

When Miles saw Peter fight Rhino, he knew the man was fast. But he’s never realized just how much. And _god,_ the man is fast. Miles didn’t have time to react.

His hands are gentle when they hold Miles’ face, leaning into his space and enveloping every sense. The man pauses for a second, and it’s the second of hesitation that Miles needs to realize that _holy shit this is happening—_

He’s not sure who leaned in to close the distance first, it could be him, could be Peter, could be both of them, but it doesn’t matter because they’re _kissing_ and oh god—

It’s warm, determined, soft, and so like Peter that Miles doesn’t stop himself from melting right into it.

Any inhibitions that Peter was holding back are gone right that second, one hand still cradling the side of Miles’ face, the other winding around his waist tenderly.

Then Peter pulls back, eyes wide and alarmed and filled with concern, “You—You’re okay with this, right? I—I’m not forcing you or anything because that was stupidly impulsive, and I didn’t think before—”

“No, you dork,” Miles says, still gaping because his mind needs a moment. He’s pretty sure he’s blue-screening because he doesn’t say anything for a while, his brain absolutely broken.

_This has got to be a dream or something. No way._

Peter’s expression tightens, getting more concerned and Miles breaks into a smile because it’s _Peter_ , the geeky weirdo who he loves. “I’m totally okay with it.”

Miles’ heart ticks up in speed when he sees the slow grin grow on Peter’s face. Miles glances away bashfully, “Besides, did you, like, forget I’m completely in love with you?”

“Consent is always key, Miles—didyou—didyoujustsayyou’re _in love_ withme?” Peter’s voice rises in pitch, eyes so wide, mouth agape.

Miles feels his cheeks go hot.

“I just thought it was just—I don’t know! Just extreme infatuation.” Peter licks his lips. “I didn’t know you—you felt like that. In that way, I mean.”

Miles pulls back, furrows his brows. “Extreme infatuation. What does that got to do with anything? I thought you knew I was basically head over heels over you.”

“I mean, I just assumed.” Peter blinks slowly at him, then, almost cautiously, “Especially when you said that this is your first time—”

“I’ve had crushes and I’ve dated before, Pete. I just said I haven’t felt this way for… basically anyone before.”

Peter blinks even more. “Oh.”

Miles tilts his head, staring at Peter, and slowly grins. “Did you think it was just a crush?”

Peter nods, lips twitching. “Yeah. Thought it was just a hero worship thing, and I was worried that you’d—well, that you’d want to stop being friends just for that.”

Miles shakes his head, “It was a little bit like that at first, a long time ago. But whatever hero worship I had was already gone by the time you kept not-so-subtly telling me to leave you alone.”

Peter groans, pressing his forehead against Miles’. “You’re not going to let that go, will you?”

“Nope. Forever seared into my head. Felt completely embarrassed. Can’t believe I was stood up countless times.”

“You were cute. _But_ a little annoying. Reminded me too much of myself.”

“What does it say about us that we’re kissing?”

“Self-absorbed, maybe?”

“For sure,” Miles agrees, then says, “But we’re not kissing now, are we? We should, like, I don’t know, keep up with the status quo and all that.”

Peter laughs, and it’s genuine. Bright, beaming and warm—just, all Peter.

“Sure, anything you want.”

Miles leans in a bit, but Peter abruptly says, “Wait.”

His soft voice, breath gentle against his own lips, is a horrible distraction. His hand traces Miles’ chin, thumb running over his skin in a move that could make Miles cry if he wasn’t already rubbed raw.

“I love you.”

Miles jolts, leaning back, eyes wide.

_Oh, man._

Peter has a tiny grin on his face, a little smug, a lot affectionate. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”

“When did _you_ figure it out?”

Peter chuckles, the hand on Miles’ waist stroking up and down, comforting and distracting.

“I think it was between the fifth and sixth cup of coffee, running on basically no sleep and sheer indomitable will—”

“—I think you mean you were just too stubborn—"

“—I was convicted I could catch you in the city just by sheer coincidence. Even ran the probability of seeing you around.”

Peter softens, the humor replaced by something more vulnerable. “It didn’t really hit me until I went to your apartment. When I realized that, if I didn’t try to fix things, I would spend the rest of our relationship like that: looking right at you, but unable to _see_ you—invisible and just—out of my grasp.”

“So, you _did_ see me. I thought I was just imagining it.”

Peter smiles, a sweet close-lipped thing that makes Miles feel self-conscious—but in a good way, in a way that makes Miles wonder what exactly he did to deserve to be looked at like that by Peter.

“Yeah. I guess even my spidey-sense recognized you.”

That self-conscious feeling only intensifies.

Miles can hear the click of Peter’s throat when he swallows dryly. “I guess it also helped when I thought back to how helpless I felt back in Symkaria. Knowing I can’t just reach across the screen to catch you out of the sky.”

Miles surges forward, bringing him into a tight hug, dangerously close to crying again.

“You were scared. I could hear it in the voicemails,” Miles says quietly, uncertain.

Peter sighs, melting in relief right into Miles’ strong embrace. “Yeah. I was. So, so scared. Kinda felt like I was going out of my mind. It was _awful._ ”

“I wanted to call you,” Miles confesses, everything wanting to pour out urgently. Peter tightens his hold. “They were a few times that I wished—that I wanted you to swing in, save my ass and get me out of my messes like some sort of prince charming.”

Miles laughs, a little bitter. But Peter shakes his head, and says, “What’s so wrong with that?”

“I’m—I’m Spider-man. I shouldn’t rely on others.”

“And how about the people who rely on you? They can’t do that either?”

Miles sighs, “That’s not the same. I’ve got powers. Those people don’t.”

“But you’re _human,_ Miles. You aren’t susceptible to get hurt. I mean look at your bruises now.” Peter pulls back to meet his eyes. “Is this what MJ kept complaining about? The stubbornness? I can see why.”

Miles frowns. He’s about to bite his tongue, but decides to ignore the skittish part of himself and says, “Speaking of MJ—”

“We broke things off while we were in Symkaria,” Peter reassures him and a grin stretches across his lips, “Seem like MJ got a little familiar with the princess herself.”

Miles’ eyes widen. “Terrifying combo they make, but I’m happy for her. Besides, we knew things weren’t the same long before that trip. We just wanted a legitimate reason. MJ founds hers.”

Peter pulls him closer. “And now I’ve found mine.”

“Is this how cheesy you’ll be all the time?”

Peter pinches Miles’ side who cracks up, leaning in to kiss the young genius, laughter still shaking his frame.

Miles frown a bit when he pulls away, thoughtful. “There’s one thing I’m worried about.”

“What’s that?”

“If you’re going to be my boyfriend, does that mean you’ll be my mentor-boyfriend? Boyfriend-mentor? Wait, that makes you sound more like a dating coach. Are you gonna stop training me how to be Spider-man?”

Peter relaxes. “I was telling the truth when I said I wasn’t going to be looking over your shoulder anymore. I don’t mind training you more, especially with all the nitty-gritty stuff. But—you’ve grown, Miles, you’ve come so far, faster than I could have ever imagined.”

The way he says it makes the pride bloom in Miles’ chest, happy to warrant such words from _the_ Spider-man. He kisses Miles, and it’s amazing. What’s not amazing is how quick Peter is with his kisses, pulling away once again.

“You’re doing so much better than I ever did at your age.” Peter presses his forehead against Miles’, gaze still locked. “You’re incredible—you’re _amazing_ , Miles.”

“Have you looked at yourself?” Miles says, still not sure where to put that kind of praise.

Peter’s eyes twinkle, though his brows furrow. “You’re deflecting. That’s okay. We’ll work on that.”

Peter places a kiss on Miles’ lips, soft and warm. Miles has lost count of the times they’ve kissed already. “We’ve got all the time in the world. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Miles’ heart is leaping out of his chest, eyes fixated on Peter. Brown half-lidded eyes, unyielding and hopeful, lips red and stretched in a lazy, pleased grin.

Miles can’t ever get sick of looking at him.

They stand there for a while, soaking in each other's presence. Miles can only hear Peter's heartbeat, strong and steady, consistent. It almost makes the migraine go away from how drowsy he already feels.

"Your head must be hurting really bad, huh?"

"Yeah," Miles huffs, melting against Peter, who only catches him, supporting his weight without a sweat. "A _lot._ "

_How Peter knows me so well, I don't know. Love it, though. He's like a crazy mind-reader._

"Come on," Peter breathes against Miles' neck, but before Miles can pull away, Peter bends down, slinks his arm behind Miles knees and—

"Oh," Miles murmurs dumbly, snug against Peter's chest, inches away from his face, held gently and protectively.

"I was gonna limp back to the couch, but this is good too."

"Who says you're sleeping on the couch?" Peter says, rolling his eyes. Miles is staring silently.

"You're amazing."

Peter laughs softly. "Okay, now I'm doubly sure you're out of it."

"I mean it, Pete. I meant what I said when we were first met and still do. You _are_ amazing, and spectacular."

Peter's grin twists, "Yeah. I mean I am Spider-man—"

"No. Not Spider-man. Peter Parker. That guy," Miles says, holding his gaze steadfast. Peter falters then, eyes fixated on him, lips parting just a bit, standing still right in front of his bedroom door.

"I love Peter Parker as much as I admire Spider-man, and vice versa or whatever. They're the same person. I don't know why you forget that sometimes."

Peter softens, something fond in his eyes as he shrugs as gently he can with MIles in his arms. Miles... likes that look on his face. It makes him feel warm. It makes him feel loved— _loved_ , that's it.

That's the look in Peter's eyes whenever Miles couldn't understand, couldn't deciper the emotion in his eyes. Love. Huh. Weird.

Miles frowns, feeling an irrational spark of frustration. "So many things I want to say, to tell you. But I'm tired and I can't really think."

Peter's warmth comes in waves in his soft laugh and in the even softer kiss placed on MIles' hairline.

"Just go to sleep, Miles." 

Miles feels soft sheets and a pillow that smells of Peter—of his cologne and cheap shampoo—under his head. Peter turns, and Miles hand shoots out before he even thinks.

Peter's face is blurry, but Miles can still see the grin on his face, blinding and loving. "I'm not going anywhere. Just moving over to the other side of the bed."

Miles nods into the pillow, eye lids half closed. He's glad Peter wasn't going to sleep on the couch or something. He didn't want to argue with the guy. Great minds think alike.

He feels the bed dip beside him, and he reaches out blindly, fingers quickly slipping in between gloved hands too. Peter didn't even change out of his suit. 

It makes Miles grin.

"What's up?" Peter whispers.

"Nothin'. 'M just happy, man," Miles mumbles. Peter shifts closer on the bed but keep their hands the only shared contact. Miles doesn't like that.

WIthout even thinking, he slides his other hand over Peter's waist and pulls Peter closer, using his very useful superstrength until he's flushed against Peter's chest. He nuzzles into Peter's neck. God, he smells so good.

"Yeah, you are," Peter says, low, a little strained.

"Relax. Just wanna touch you. Like you around," Miles says, half gone, throwing a leg over Peter's hips.

Peter's heartbeat isn't the last thing he hears.

It's Peter's voice, warm and fond and affectionate, "I'm not going anywhere, Miles. Not until you say so."

_Forever then._

For some reason, he feels Peter grin before darkness completely overtakes him, enveloped by love and safety. He's never felt more at home.

* * *

“Do straws make it easier?”

Miles shrugs from his position, the cup of cold strawberry lemonade carefully held in his upside-down hand. “Kind of. Less risk of the drink going to my nose.”

Peter snorts. “It’s still such a shame I didn’t get my phone out fast enough. Eh, not that it matters, I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of you shooting milk out of your nose out of my memory.”

Miles rolls his eyes. “As if _you_ weren’t the one who made me laugh. I still blame you for that.”

Peter only shrugs, and his mask is stretched in a way that tells Miles he’s grinning like mad underneath it.

He passes the second half of the drink off to Peter, who rolls his mask up to his nose. But instead of sipping the drink like Miles expected, Peter turns to him, leans in and kisses Miles deeply—who’s still very much upside down.

It’s—It’s a weird angle but surprisingly not horrible. Definitely still better than the kiss they shared when Peter was still covered in rubble dust. Miles almost died from how much dust he inhaled.

“Strawberry lemonade,” Peter says thoughtfully when he pulls away. “Not a bad choice. Little too tart for my tastes, though.”

“That’s a first,” Miles comments, talking about the kiss.

Peter grins, watching Miles flip back to earth, and he kisses him right this time. “Doesn’t sound like a complaint.”

“It’s not,” Miles breathes against Peter’s lips. Peter’s hand comes up and pulls down the mask for Miles, rolling it down to his neck, a tender action that always makes Miles’ heart squeeze like a stress ball. He places one last kiss on Miles’ forehead before treating himself to strawberry lemonade.

“Do you think about how we could have done things wrong?”

“What do you mean?” Peter asks, peering over to Miles, who sighs and looks at the street below him.

“I sometimes think about how close we were to not getting together. How easily we would have missed something this amazing.”

Peter’s silent, like he always is when he’s considering an answer seriously. Miles has gotten to know Peter much better over the last few months, has gotten much closer to the man, gotten more intimate in ways that truly matter. And Miles could almost have lost it all.

“We can’t do anything to the past, especially when things have turned out our way. We can only be a little more grateful, and—” Peter grins a bit, “take a leap of faith, sometimes—hope for the best.”

“Yeah,” Miles agrees.

The sirens come right on schedule. Peter turns to Miles, “Good luck kiss?”

Miles tilts his head, moving his head up and down like he’s considering.

“Only if you reach there first.” Before Peter can blink, Miles has leapt off the edge of the building, his voice loud as he whoops in triumph.

“Oh, c’mon!”

“Keep up, old man!” Miles yells over his shoulder, already two blocks away.

Peter chuckles, rolling his mask down, and gets to his feet.

“God, I love him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end! Hope you enjoyed the ride as much I did writing it! 
> 
> Please tell me what you think! Tell me your first impressions! Or tell me any headcanons you've got for this version of Miles/Peter because I just love these two boys.
> 
> I already have a few other fic ideas ruminating in my head, though most of them are just going to be one-shots for now.  
> But for now, this is the end, ladies and gents! Thanks for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a sexy little kudos, or even a sexier comment if you'd like! I love all sorts of feedback, even if it's just unintelligible squealing! <3


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